Power Play
by attimesiwrite
Summary: As the Stormcloaks celebrate their Victory over the Empire and prepare for the oncoming Thalmor assault, the Dragonborn confronts Jarl Ulfric with an indecent demand. Ulfric/F!DB (Kink Meme fill continuation) Reviews are more than welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Hello all! This was a fill I did for the Elder Scrolls kinkmeme back in 2012. I posted it there and people requested that I make a sequel. Well, I have something better than a sequel – I'm breaking this into a seven part series documenting post-war life for Ulfric and the Dragonborn. : ) I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I swear.

Warnings: A rough lemon, slight blood, lots o' slapping.

* * *

As the Stormcloaks relish in their Victory over the Empire and prepare for the oncoming Thalmor, the Dragonborn confronts Jarl Ulfric with an unconventional and slightly indecent demand.

Darkness fell over Solitude after the Stormcloak's victory, and yet the lights a noises emitting from the city didn't falter. Ulfric sat on Elisif's throne lazily while nursing a large goblet of mead that he had barely made progress on. This was a major turning point for himself, for Skyrim, and regrettably the Thalmor as well. They would turn their full attention to Skyrim now that their puppets have been expended and his worries grew by the moment as the celebration grew rowdier.

He was pulled from his concerns when a loud shattering sound resonated through the crowded Palace. Hefty laugher followed soon after, including the distinct cackle of the Dragonborn. He cringed at the sound – she was drunk as everyone else around him, no doubt. He did not recall seeing her after his speech, during which she stood like a stone statue, her face emotionless and her eyes empty.

Galmar hadn't been lying when he confessed to Ulfric the Dragonborn's unmistakable talent on the battlefield. Ulfric hadn't doubted her aptitude per se, though he was not expecting the smooth talking woman to unleash a bout of unbridled fury against Solitude.

It wasn't just the passion in which she fought that impressed him, but her technique. A lifetime in military service had exposed him to a plethora of methods in which to take down an enemy. She was excruciatingly systematic when dealing with a target as he had saw with his own eyes that afternoon. How she scaled along the walls ahead of her comrades and took down every single Imperial that she laid eyes on had been more than a pleasant surprise to him.

He glanced into the drunken, bumbling crowd of soldiers that filled the upstairs of the palace and saw her making her way through the mob, her smiling face flushed and bottle of ale dangling from her fingers. Captain Tobias – one of his most outstanding soldiers – and obviously drunk, trailed after her like a starved pup, his hand occasionally moving down to her midriff when the opportunity arose. Ulfric fought the grimace that was forming on his face. That poor lad clearly had no clue what he was getting into. He had heard tales of her sordid affairs and scheming ways but chose to ignore them. She was, after all, the Dragonborn, and the secret weapon that had won him the war; what happened in her personal life held no relevance to the tumultuous yet professional relationship they held. Though, on many occasions he felt nearly sick when he would catch glimpses of her luring both men and women into her web.

"Ulfric, what's the matter?" Galmar broke the man from his daze and rested a firm hand on his shoulder. The Jarl felt peculiarly hot then and with a quick, dismissive wave of his hand, Galmar backed off. Ulfric stood from the throne, set his goblet down on the nearby table, and made a quiet exit to the balcony of the Blue Palace. The battle and his lack of sleep had finally caught up with him, he guessed.

The rush of the cool air against his face was refreshing compared to the stuffy state of the inside of the palace. Ulfric closed the door behind him and took a seat on one of the small benches littered across the perimeter of the terrace. He sat alone in the darkness for quite some time, devising his potential strategy against the Thalmor. It was a brewing storm that plagued his every thought since the war took a turn in his favor. The victory should have been relieving to him but instead opened new doors of impending threats.

"I was trying to work out where you disappeared to," the Dragonborn slurred from over his shoulder, her proximity and the volume of her voice making him jerk out of surprise, "…came here after giving up and look what I found." She smiled and pointed stupidly at him.

He forced himself to nod politely in acknowledgment, ignoring the distinct stench of liquor on her breath, "I see you've been enjoying the festivities."

"I see that you haven't." she countered, her eyebrow quirking and her lips pursed, "I've been expecting you to partake in tonight's celebration and instead you've been mulling about the palace– not even drinking!" The bottle of ale she held in her hand was raised for emphasis and Ulfric sighed, clearly bothered.

"I'm a busy man – "

"Well good, because I'm a busy woman, and I have a very serious matter that I wish to discuss with you." Sauntering around where he sat on the bench she leaned her back against the stone wall of the balcony, her eyes alight with mischief.

Ulfric considered pushing her over the edge briefly before sighing and crossing his arms, "What is it?"

She took a long swig from the bottle and set it down on the wall, "I'm requesting a favor in the means of a personal endeavor of mine." Her voice rose dramatically and her smile had returned. She leaned forward, holding onto the railing behind her and licked her lips.

Ulfric's eye's narrowed, "What exactly?"

"Well, let me plead my case first, seeing as it is a delicate topic and I have a few things I need to say before asking," the words spilled from her mouth inelegantly and she held a hand up, signaling for him not to speak. Ulfric felt his uneasiness escalate at her abnormally uncouth behavior.

"First and foremost, I have been of utmost importance in this triumph and therefore I believe my service has merit deserving of a favor," she state smugly, turning her nose up slightly in her conceit. Ulfric wanted to wrap his hands around her small neck and wring it. He felt his face burn as he waited for her to continue, "Secondly, you have my word that I will remain loyal if you aid me in the particular favor."

Clumsily reaching for her bottle, she unintentionally knocked it over with her wrist, causing it to tumble from the balcony and down into the darkness of the abandoned back courtyard.

"Piss," she cursed brazenly, peering over the edge of the railing before turning back to Ulfric, a stern frown replacing her one mischievous grin.

"Hurry, girl, I don't have all night." Ulfric was well and irritated now – her presence making his whole body restless and impatient.

"Apologies, your highness," she jeered sarcastically, "I can call you that now, can't I?"

Ulfric ignored her mockery, deciding to not give her the gratification of his frustration and responded casually, "Not yet, but soon enough."

"Yes, well, I trust the position will be just suited for you and your arrogance." She mocked again, though a smile played on her lips this time. Ulfric stretched his legs out and yawned.

"I believe so, too. Now, continue on with what you were saying, a King has many responsibilities and I don't think dealing with a drunken slag is one of them."

The Dragonborn giggled and let go of the railing, "there he is!"

He stared at her questioningly and insulted, "pardon?"

"Oh, you're so dull when you're distracted, you know that?"

Ulfric stood suddenly and brushed past the Dragonborn quickly, making his way to the door. He had enough of her mind games and was frankly tired of seeing her in general.

"You didn't let me finish," she teased merrily from behind him as he gripped the handle of the door. Ulfric wanted to scold her, yell at her, and even hurt her. The woman was maddening enough when she was sober and basically insufferable when she was drunk.

"Then do so," he snapped, turning to glare at her.

The Dragonborn smiled again and it infuriated him beyond belief, "Thirdly, I do believe that if you were to partake in this favor, it would prove to be beneficial to you and me alike," she mouthed each word carefully and let her voice drop suspiciously low towards the end. Their eyes were locked since she spoke and he swallowed; curiosity getting the best of him.

"Fine. Tell me what it is you request."

"Make me your Queen when the Moot declares you High King." The Dragonborn smirked. Ulfric's jaw slacked and he shook his head quickly.

"I'm not sure if that strange mind of yours has realized yet, but people don't request marriage as a favor," he gritted through his teeth.

"Sure they do! Pretty much every royal wedding in Skyrim's and the Empire's history was a favor. Torygg wed Elisif out of favor, Caula Voira wed Uriel Septim VII out of favor – the list can go on and on really. It's somewhat of a formality I've notice – requesting marriage as a favor."

Ulfric attempted to restrain himself from lunging at her at that moment. The gull of this woman was insurmountable and he had enough of it.

"No. I formally deny your request of marriage." He snarled before turning back around and storming off into the castle. His face was hot with rage and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. Any form of fascination he had for her dissipated with the vile words that spilled out of her drunken mouth. He maneuvered through the now dwindling crowd of soldiers and headed straight for the royal bed chambers, ignoring the cheers as he walked by.

Once in the lavish chamber he slammed the thick wooden door behind him and unpinned his outer attire, throwing it on a nearby chair.

"You know the terrace wraps around to all of the bed chambers, right?" She had been leaning lazily against the door leading to the terrace. Her voice dripped poison, as far as he was concerned, and he growled out of frustration.

"Leave. I've had enough of your games."

"I didn't think we were playing a game."

"I'm not, but you are you stupid child," he marched over to her and realized in that moment how short she was for a Nord, "Now leave."

"No." She defied softly and brought a hand up to touch one of the braids that framed his face. He caught her wrist before she touched him and she turned her hand in his grip to where her soft fingers grazed over the inside of his wrist. Ulfric's expression softened out of confusion and his eyes roamed over her face, trying desperately to read her motives.

"I don't believe I will, because there is another part of this game, my liege." The corners of her full lips turned up into a devious smile and pulled her wrist from his grasp and backed towards the small table and chairs that were lined against the wall, beckoning him to follow with her hand.

She pulled out a chair and plopped down with a lack of grace that would be found in a grizzled old soldier, such as himself. Ulfric, against his better judgment, followed and sat in the chair opposite of her.

"Let me talk you through this," her slur was nearly gone now, he noticed, and her smile disappeared, "Face it, Ulfric, I'm offering you something so beneficial that it will guarantee you the throne."

Ulfric took a deep breath to control his anger, "Explain the meaning of this as quickly and as painlessly as possible, woman, before I throw you out of this palace."

"What will the Moot look for while declaring the new monarchy? Hm? Your popularity amongst the common folk will help. This victory will help. Your past leadership skills will help. However, you're missing something vital, my King." She reached forward and poured two goblets of wine, pushing one towards his tense form before leaning into her seat, "You are already well into your forties and lack a wife to carry you an heir."

"That will be a major hit for Elisif. She's a widow – a young, popular widow with a lot more gold than you could ever imagine. So, she could easily buy her way out of the marriage problem. But you, my dear King, could marry and legitimately bear children; if only you'd accept my offer." She smiled humbly with the last statement, sipping her wine delicately, her blue eyes bearing into Ulfric with the intensity that was mirrored in the battle earlier that day.

"I don't need you for that," he spat condescendingly, "are you taking your own words into consideration, Dragonborn? I'm popular amongst the people of Skyrim; parents around the land are preparing their daughters for the day that I take the throne."

"Ah yes," she smirked and leaned forward, "How delightful that the Moot will see you, a veteran from the Great War, take a blushing virgin under your wing after you become King; a girl whose parents will bore her through years of physical and social grooming to be perfectly subservient and sit next to you with dead eyes. She would be a true Imperial breeding machine like an Empress should be – nothing like the Nordic Queens of old that ruled along with their husbands. How ironic that a man who fought so hard for Skyrim's liberation would uphold the Empire's twisted views of marriage."

"Give me one good reason as to why a young, inexperienced, aristocratic girl would be a better Queen than me and I will leave right now and never come back." The Dragonborn sternly offered and ran a finger around the rim of her goblet. Ulfric didn't know what he was feeling at the moment. It held the unpleasantness of humiliation and the intrinsic pain of defeat, and yet he knew and was willing to admit that she was right. He remained silent and picked up the goblet, putting to his lips and savoring the bitterness of the wine.

"Then I shall continue," she took a long sip of her wine in turn, "I'm a capable fighter, which is something you will need in the future. I've seen you wallowing around tonight and I know exactly what's on your mind – as it has bothered me as well. When the time comes, I will stand by Skyrim. However, I will not stand by you or anymore of your causes if you deny my request."

Ulfric scoffed, "You act as if you're a spoiled child; throwing a tantrum and running away when you don't get what you want."

"Not that your refusal is something that is too concerning on a personal level – I have seen what effect my absence has on your troops' morale… and yourself." No grin broke onto her face as she glowered at him, her eyes burning through him again. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pushed the goblet away from himself slightly.

"No response?" The pitch in her voice rose out of surprise as she reached forward, attempting to touch his hand. He yanked it away violently and rubbed his eyes. He had won the war against the Empire and lost a battle to this woman all in one day. She had a point, he figured. She was fairly young, but old enough to have plenty of experience under her belt, she was intelligent, she could bear children, and she was attractive.

"It's been a long day, Dragonborn. You've made your case and I will need some time to think about it. Am I clear?"

She beamed and rose from her seat, wobbling awkwardly from her alcohol intake, "Crystal clear. When do you believe you will have your decision? I leave for Whiterun in two days."

"I will get it to you before then." He snapped and stood as well, shamefully leading her to the door.

"Goodnight, my King," she flirted before gripping the handle and pulling the door open. There weren't many people left in the hall now, and for that he thanked the Gods. He grumbled in response and shut the door once she was out. Ulfric stepped over to the bed and sat on the edge of it.

Marrying her would prove to be advantageous if she was genuinely willing to rule beside him and bear his children. Ulfric Stormcloak of East March and the Dragonborn ruling Skyrim together? The general public would go into hysterics. They would be the first huge piece to rebuilding Skyrim into the powerful kingdom it once was yet become the most sought after target of the Empire and the Thalmor.

He groaned as he collapsed backwards onto the bed and closed his eyes. Anxiety and doubt made his head ache and his stomach twist nervously. She claimed it would be beneficial for the both of them, but in what way for her? She had money and more power than she deserved; what more could she possibly want? The woman and her wretched ulterior motives would surely be the death of him, no doubt. He chuckled grimly and felt himself gradually falling to extreme exhaustion. He would deal with the snarky attitude, the insufferably argumentative nature of her personality, and perhaps even grow to like her if she would only stop being such a power hungry –

_Power._

How could he have been so blind? This was power play to her. It really was a game. Given her consistent failures at trying to keep her relationships alive, he should have seen it sooner. That is why she wanted to marry him; that is why she was dangling her isolation in front of him as a warning – merely to exercise the power she held.

Ulfric sat up from his near sleeplike state and strolled over to a nearby desk. Searching through it he found a piece of parchment and a quill. He sat down and began writing frantically, knocking over the inkwell in his frenzied state.

If power play was want she wanted - power play is what she would get.

The sun beamed brightly over Solitude when morning came, much to the dismay of numerous hung-over soldiers. The disgruntled residents of Solitude littered the streets of the large city, trying urgently to smother what remained of the neglected fires from the battle and to shoo the awakening Stormcloak soldiers off of their property.

Ulfric had only acquired two hours of sleep at most when he had finished writing out the stipulations of the potential wedding arrangement. He awoke with a startled jerk when Galmar called out to him. He sat up on the bed and blinked several times.

"Ulfric," Galmar's gravelly voice seemed to echo as Ulfric attempted to hurry his way out of his hazed state.

"Galmar?"

"I've been looking for you for ages!" Galmar complained as he shut the door to the chambers behind him. Ulfric grumbled in response and sat up, rubbing his eyes roughly.

"We have to – what is that?" The older man's thought process was interrupted when he spotted the rolled parchment that Ulfric gripped in his left hand. The Jarl had to give the parchment a good, hard look before finally remembering what it was. He felt a rush of adrenaline and he stumbled over to the desk and clumsily secured the parchment with a piece of ribbon.

"I need you to give this to the Dragonborn. Don't look at it – just hand it to her, tell her it's from me, and Galmar, do not stick around for long– I don't need you to die," Ulfric smiled and handed the paper to the confused Galmar before patting his old friend on the shoulder and strolling casually out of the room.

Ulfric went to the main hall where an assortment of food was laid out by some of his soldiers. He smiled, grabbed a sweet roll and he lounged in the throne as he watched Galmar awkwardly make his way down the crowded stairs. By the Nine, this was bound to be good.

* * *

Ulfric had waited an hour before he decided to leave his spot on the throne. Disappointed with the Dragonborn's delay, he gathered his extra clothing that he brought with himself and went into the bathing room that was located deep within Castle Dour. It was completely secluded past the stairwell that led into the steamy depths. There were several rooms located within the chamber; all of them containing a sizable basin carved out of marble that were recently filled with hot water. He laid his extra clothing out on a marble bench and proceeded to undress, tossing his sweat and blood covered attire in the far corner of the room. He eased himself into the water and sighed when the hot water eased the aches in his body.

"Were you half asleep when you wrote your avowal this morning or has your handwriting always been dreadful?" An easygoing feminine voice floated through the room and he felt his stomach sink. His head shot over to the source of the voice and there stood the Dragonborn, wet and wrapped in one of the royal bathing robes that hung at the entrance. Her usually tied back hair was down, the wet curls falling over her shoulders and down her back. She strolled across the room, a full looking knapsack thrown over her shoulder, and sat down on the bench where his clean clothing lay.

"Do not fret, I'm not up to any wrong doings. I'm afraid I'm too sober," she muttered warily as she noted the flash of terror on his face when she caught sight of his clothing.

"What are you doing here?" Ulfric sank down in the basin, feeling unexpectedly bashful.

"Well I thought perhaps I would murder you, but…" the last word hung from her mouth teasingly and he chuckled lightly at her odd, warped sense of humor.

"Always with the sharp tongue. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe people would like you more if you didn't constantly treat them with sarcasm?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I would like people more if they didn't ask such stupid, menial questions and waste my time?" She snapped at him and he smirked, raising his arms to rest them behind his head.

"Well, I'm keen on hearing your reply."

She smiled forlornly and pulled the knapsack sitting next to her in her lap and retrieved the parchment that she had received from Galmar, "I will try my best to abide by these."

Ulfric's eyes narrow suspiciously – this did not go as planned, "I must say I was hoping for more of a response from you."

"I know. It was clear that these were written out of spite." She unfurled the parchment and peered at it.

"I am to appear with you at every public event – proof of legitimacy – I get that. You will monitor my alcohol intake – not too sure how I feel about that one but we all must make sacrifices." She sighed ruefully and continued to read the list silently. Ulfric ran his hands up and down his arms, occasionally picking pieces of caked dirt off.

"I will submit to you willingly in bed. We'll see who submits to whom. You will get to name our prospective children?" Her eyes darted up and she raised a disapproving eyebrow.

"They're satisfactory?" Ulfric remained cool and collected, regardless of his wrong prediction.

"I guess," she sighed and placed the parchment back into the bag and rubbed her hands together.

"What do you want from me? From this?" Ulfric gave up. He was confused, defeated, properly ensnared by her game - whatever reaction she was fishing for, she already had it.

"I was hoping you would man up and finally ask." She quipped curtly and toyed with the ends of her hair, "I want you. I want this. I found it to be beneficial to the both of us and thought I would be able to convince you, but…"

"Wait, wait. Me? You want me?" Ulfric asked incredulously and ran a wet hand through his stringy, dirty hair.

"Yes. I do, actually. Farfetched isn't it?" She smiled sardonically and curled her legs underneath herself.

"I don't believe you."

"That doesn't surprise me. I've only put my life on the line for you countless times, went through torture to keep your whereabouts discreet, been severely wounded because I was actively protecting you. I understand your trepidation. I really, really do." The woman smiled scathingly.

Ulfric regretted his decision to write the conditions. He had misjudged her severely and here was the most powerful soldier in Skyrim begging him to wed her and he was denying. The madness of the situation irritated him even more; he was supposed to know what she was thinking – what she wanted. He could read everyone else effortlessly, yet with her he was so lost. He remained silent and ran a wet hand down his face. Nothing about this situation made any sense. She didn't make any sense.

"You really are missing the point of this whole thing, aren't you?" The Dragonborn barked, the sharpness of her voice echoing off of the walls, "I've seen your intelligence first hand on multiple occasions but it must be absent from that normally bright mind of yours."

"Then what do you want?" He gritted through his teeth and gripped the edges of the pool until his knuckles turned white.

"I don't want money. I don't want your palace. I don't want to be Queen. I don't want power." She explained, her voice strained with an emotion akin to pain. She paused and put a hand to the side of her face, trying to calm herself down.

Ulfric watched her for a long moment before he nearly gasped in enlightenment. "You love me."

"Don't be daft."

Ulfric let out a loud, bitter laugh that visibly distressed the Dragonborn, "No, you silly child, you believe you actually love me, don't you?"

"I finally figured you out," He pointed at her critically, admiring the flush of embarrassment that spread over her face and exposed neck, "Love is such an inspirational and vicious motivator, especially when it's inspiring a stupid girl."

"It's not love," she yelled defensively as she rose from the bench. Ulfric swore he felt the floor tremor slightly at the force of her voice. "It's – it's – "

"It's what then?" His deep laugh echoed off the walls, "forget it, child. You don't love me. You don't even know me." His voice lowered ever so slightly with the last sentence, as if foreboding something. He felt a burning in his chest that spread throughout his body.

The Dragonborn was at a loss of words as she sat down again, breathing deeply. She pulled her bag into her lap and calmly sifted through it, in search of something.

Ulfric watched her carefully, pride swelling in his victory against the young woman. Another wave of pride hit him as he realized that the Dragonborn, a living, breathing legend, was besotted by him.

She stood then and calmly walked over to the end of the pool that Ulfric was relaxing in. Ulfric's eyes travelled down to her left hand where she held a journal of some sorts.

"Do you know what this is, Ulfric?" Her voice didn't hold the anger, didn't hold the sarcasm, and didn't hold the life that it normally did. She held up the journal quickly and pulled herself to a sitting position just next to where he sat, letting her feet slip into the still hot water.

He eyed her suspiciously and shook his head, attempting to eye the emblem on the front of the familiar looking book.

"This is your dossier from the Thalmor," Her voice held contempt her dark eyes flickered to his widening ones.

"Where did you find that?" He snarled ominously, turning and making a reach for it. She pulled it back just out of his reach and held up her other hand.

"Do you not remember the tales of my gallant infiltration of the embassy? Surely you must have heard of it, see as it was rather crucial to your victory." Oh he remembered, alright. He had been concerned for her – what she was going to do – whom she was going to.

"I haven't looked at it. Although, your interrogator shared some details in my last encounter with her." She confessed casually, fingering the Thalmor emblem on the cover. Her eyes caught his and she simpered.

Ulfric felt his heart pound from inside his chest and he extended his hand again in vain. She retracted again and unlocked the mechanism binding the journal.

He observed her like a hawk as she flipped through the first few pages, "please , just give me it."

She paused noticeably at the desperateness in his voice but continued on, "well let's just imagine this as my way of knowing you, Ulfric. There's something in this record that you don't want me to see and if I do see it –"

"You will no longer wish to marry me. I promise you that."

"Well, we'll see about that." She smiled softly and began to read silently.

A firm grasp along her ankle took her by surprise and she was yanked forward roughly. The journal flew out of her hands and several feet behind her as she fought to support herself on her elbows. She barely caught a glimpse of Ulfric before she was yanked again, her elbows giving in and her head falling to the marble with a harsh crack.

Ulfric submerged her in the water long enough to disorient her and let go of her, beginning to climb out of the pool. With a cry she jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and a leg around his waist, using her free leg to push them both away from the edge. Ulfric lost his balance and fell backwards into the water. He felt her release him once they were both fully immersed and he opened his eyes, seeing her blurry form pushing herself out from the edge. He panicked and lunged forward; grabbing her waist and pulling her back, feeling her lithe body thrash about recklessly.

He pushed them both of from the water and hooked both of her arms behind her back while trying to pin her body between himself and the wall. She continued to thrash, a nearly inhuman noise ripping from her throat and her nails digging into the arm that bound both of hers.

"Release – me –now." She cried while gasping for air.

"I don't think so," He muttered as he pinned her firmly against the wall, his free hand slipping over her mouth, "you took this way too far. Now calm down."

Her muffled voice buzzed against his hand as she tried futilely to wiggle her way from his grasp. He patiently waited for her to stop squirming. His eyes caught the streaks of crimson that painted the back of her neck and down her bare back. A slight pang of guilt tore through him as he inspected the tiny laceration at the base of her skull. She will live, he thought bitterly as he finally felt her body become lax against him.

He peered around her neck and watched as she closed her eyes and her eyebrows furrowed. He was suddenly aware of their nakedness in that moment, and the shocks that her movements sent through him. The curve of her back pressed firmly into his chest and stomach and her bottom pushed tantalizingly against his manhood. He brushed off his body's reaction as a pent up desire to be with a woman; something he had not indulged in for far too long.

He fought to keep his eyes from wandering down as he held her against him. His hand gently slipped from her mouth and moved down to her neck, wrapping around it threateningly.

"You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met. I actually considered your proposal last night," he growled in her ear and was please when he felt her tremor in his arms, "you have a point. You would be an excellent Queen to have by my side, but keep in mind that you will get absolutely no where if you continue to pull stunts like this. You're a hero – act like one."

His hand relaxed but remained around her thin neck, his thumb gently rubbing circles against her smooth skin. She rested her forehead against the wall in front of her and she opened her eyes finally, turning her head to the side to glance at him.

"My apologies." She whispered and his arm unhooked from hers and he tentatively rested his hands on her waist. Maybe he finally got through her thick skull. The Dragonborn slacked against him further and he tightened his hold on her.

"Impressive." She muttered.

"What is?"

"You."

He felt flattered even though he didn't know what her compliment was given for, "what about me?"

"Your cock."

He scoffed against her shoulder as she pressed against him purposefully, gauging a response.

His hands travelled to her hips as she rhythmically moved against him and his manhood twitched painfully. She turned in his arms to where her chest was pressed to his and her thigh pressed firmly against his hardening member. His eyes glanced down at her breasts and he raised an eyebrow. If they did wind up wed, he could definitely get used her.

"How long has it been?"

"Long enough that when I start I will not stop. Choose wisely." He spoke cryptically as his brain began to fog dangerously. Sleeping with her would be a delightful exploit, then again he thought that writing the rules the night before would be enjoyable. Yet here she was, waiting to be bedded. He felt himself hardening uncomfortably and he leaned into her, placing a hand behind her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. Her full lips immediately opened upon contact, taking him off guard. He mimicked her actions and felt her hands freely roamed over the expanse of his chest.

He reached behind her during the kiss and attempted to push her back against the wall. She groaned into his mouth out of protest and resisted fully with her body. With their lips still connected he staggered into the shallow area of the basin and she followed, climbing into his lap.

She pulled away from him, her lips swollen and her eyes closed. He felt a surge of pleasure wrack his body and he went in for another kiss, only to be denied by her head dipping down to his neck. Ulfric let the pent up groan escape him as she licked and nipped her way across his neck, her hot breath delighting the sensitive skin.

The Dragonborn rocked her hips against his and she sighed against his neck. Ulfric let his head fall back as he gripped her gyrating hips, relishing on her heat as it teased and down the underside of his length.

"You are impressive," she panted into his neck and reached down to take him into her hand. She stopped her assault on his neck and he smirked as he brought his head back up to watch her as she stroked him slowly. A pleasing tension grew in his stomach and he groaned again, threading a hand through her drenched hair and holding it firmly in place. Her dark eyes shot up and her tongue darted out over her lips before she gently reached up to grab his wrist. Ulfric released her hair immediately as she softly touched his wrist, unexpectedly afraid that he would frighten her away.

Never breaking their eye contact, she gently led his hand next to him and leaned forward, trailing her nails up his chest and neck before it curled behind his head and tangled in his hair. Ulfric was in a daze – whatever she was doing to him hurt and pleasured him at the same time. He moved his faced closer to hers, wanting nothing more than to kiss her.

A sharp pain shot through his scalp as his head was yanked back by his hair. He winced and grasped her arm firmly. As he was forced to stare at the ceiling he cursed. Typical of her. So typical.

"Ulfric," she cooed softly in his ear and appeared above his face, feeling her other hand squeeze his length roughly. He groaned and blinked slowly. He couldn't determine what he felt at the moment. Shamefully, he recognized the pleasantly aching sensation in his groin, "oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Such dulcet tones for such an insane woman, he reckoned.

"One of your conditions was that I must submit to you in bed." She appeared above him, her eyes ablaze, "you're an authoritative man in everything you do."

Leaning down, her lips found his in an awkward, frenzied kiss. She clutched him painfully and he moaned into the kiss, pleasure coursing through his body.

He managed to free his mouth from hers, "Is this what our relationship is going to be based on? Power?"

She giggled femininely and his cock jolted in her grip, "Only when you recognize that sometimes it's good to have the control taken from you."

Ulfric opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by her mouth collapsing on his and her hand releasing his hair. He sighed in relief as she finally let go and bit back a moan and his hands found her soft body, clinging on to her strongly.

The Dragonborn broke from the kiss and worked her way off of his lap. She stood and pulled her hair back away from her face, "Let's go somewhere a bit more conducive to... this."

Ulfric sat in the pool of water and watched her carefully. "Where would you suggest?"

"Follow," She held out her hand and he stood to take it. The woman's eyes travelled downward and she smirked appreciatively at him.

He felt uncomfortable and bizarrely thrilled as they walked through the halls of the Castle Dour bath chambers completely nude. The fear that someone would walk in and see him naked wouldn't bother him nearly as much as the fear that someone would walk in and see him naked with her. Word got around quickly with the Stormcloak's and the last thing he needed was whispers of him and the Dragonborn getting to the Thalmor so soon.

"Stop thinking." The nude Nord before him quipped as she turned to take his other hand and slowly back into the doorway of another room. He raised an eyebrow and she smiled in turn, "Right now isn't the time to deliberate war."

Ulfric ignored her fleetingly and took a looked around the room. It was a spare room for lowly guests to the castle that had apparently been used as a storage room of late. It was small – a bed, a couple of tables and a chest.

"Lie down," she commanded as she pointed towards the bed. Ulfric felt his stomach drop. What was he doing? Submitting to her was a mistake, he knew. She would get control. She would get the power.

"You first, I insist."

"Come now, Ulfric, we were making such progress," she whined as she circled around him and wrapped her arms around his tense form. The Jarl ignored her although his resolve was slowly dwindling into his now undeniable arousal. He gave in and peeled her arms from his body and walked to the bed, laying on it unceremoniously.

"Good," he felt a surge of anger as cold hearted satisfaction dripped from her voice. The anger was closely followed by a wave of pleasure as she climbed over him, her warmth pressing insistently against him. His hands moved to her thighs and he slid them up her sides. Two sharp slaps on his wrists sounded sharply through the room and she glared down upon him much like a mother would s disobedient child. It irked him to no end – but his desire knew no bounds.

He obeyed and lowered his hands as she leaned over him, her breasts pressing firmly against his chest and her mouth nearly touching his. Her hands rested on his chest and her nails dug in as she ground her hips slowly against his. Their tongues danced as their motions continued and the Dragonborn moaned heatedly into the kiss.

Something inside of Ulfric occurred at that point. In hindsight he would never be able to pinpoint what happened after his eyes shot open and his large hands gripped her hips so tightly that she let out a throaty, pained cry. Nor would he be able to remember the mere seconds before he flipped them over, straddled her and pinned her wrists above her head. All he would be able to remember is the fire in her eyes that for some mysterious reason, struck fear into his very soul.

"Let me go," she warned, her hot breath streaking across his face. He freed his left hand by awkwardly transferring her wrists to his other and felt blindly on the table next to it. While his eyes never left hers he grasped at the strip of dust covered leather that was found on the night table, bringing it up to his mouth where he kept it while he situated her wrists to be bound against the bed post. She bucked and struggled as she was bound – panic falling over her features. He could sense her panic on a level that he didn't think possible, and it drove him even further.

"Did Elenwen teach you this?" Her insult shook slightly as she struggled against the newly tied binds around her wrist and his body weight. He paused after he had finished securing the bond and leaned forward, his hand stroking her cheek tenderly.

"We're going to play my game now, you whore," he whispered harshly against her ear and she whimpered. The sound drove him mad – as did the sight of the wanton, bound and fearful woman before him.

"Sometimes it's good to have the control taken from you," he mocked against her ear.

He sat up and took his time positioning himself next to her face, where he leaned down to place a kiss on her lips. Her teeth sank into his lip sharply and he withdrew, amused as crimson seeped from the shallow wound. The hand that rested on her cheek drew back and delivered a slap that made the Dragonborn fume, her face contorting.

"I'm not jesting, Ulfric. Release me now, you stupid bastard or – "

The Jarl laughed loudly as he moved closer to her and took his cock into his hand, "Or what woman? You'll shout? You won't be able to."

She eyed him suspiciously before he placed his tip before her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed and she grunted defiantly – turning her head the other way in protest.

He threaded his hand through her hair and pulled her to him tightly, pressing the tip firmly to her lips. She glared at him furiously and opened her mouth reluctantly, taking him in and sliding her tongue over the tip.

Ulfric held back a loud groan and loosened the grip on the bound woman's hair. His large hand found the back of her skull and pushed ever so slightly. She glanced up at him critically but opened her mouth wider to accommodate. He would laugh at the compromising position if the pleasure didn't override his brain. He let out a strangled moan as she craned her head to take him in even further – the abrasive hair at the base tickling her nose ever so slightly. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollow with the force of the action and her eyes closed seemingly blissfully. He continued to watch her as she made the most of her restricted movements and sighed heavily as he felt his release approaching all too soon.

The Dragonborn emitted a sensual growl as her head bobbed back and forth quicker, sending vibrations through his manhood. Abruptly, Ulfric drew from her mouth before she dragged him over the edge and he let out a hefty sigh, "by the Gods, woman."

She licked her lips and smiled devilishly, "I take that as a job well done?"

"Shut your mouth," he tapped her on the side of the face and positioned himself in between her legs. She arched her back suggestively and spread her legs for him. He shook his head ever so slightly at her enthusiasm and let both of his hands wander her body fully. His hands found her neglected breasts and he crawled over her, taking one of her ample breasts in his right hand and abused the perky nipple with his tongue.

"Oh Gods," she struggled and attempted to squeeze her thighs to advert the aching in her womb. Ulfric chuckled in pride as he took the sensitive bud of flesh in between his teeth, causing another delicious moan to echo through the room.

He released her nipple from his mouth and moved to the other one, mistreating it similarly. His hands travelled down her well-built body and rested on her thighs. He watched her face aptly as his hands work their way to her backside. She bit her lip and let her head drop backwards – the leather bond squeaking as she squirmed. He gave her ass an approving squeeze – pulling the hand away ever so slightly before landing with an unforgiving blow that made the woman below him release a sound so bizarre that was followed by a string of words so incoherent that he laughed.

"What was that, my dear?" he freed her other breast and smirked wickedly. Sitting up, he reached forward and undid her bonds, cockily smiling as she did nothing but lay with her arms in the exact same position. Her whole body was flushed from desire, her eyes were heavily lidded and her swollen lips parted as she spread her legs for him willingly.

The Jarl leaned into her closely and kissed her passionately, letting his fingers wander down into the wet mound of curls that awaited his touch eagerly. The woman shoved her pelvis up into his hand and he smiled into the kiss. He had broken her. Finally.

His tongue delved into her mouth and he drank her moans as his fingers circled her clit slowly, occasionally slipping into her hot entrance. The Dragonborn pulled away from the kiss to giggle erratically as he inserted two fingers into her; the digits boorishly pumping in and out of her body. He raised an eyebrow at her teasing as he continued to explore her from the inside. His thumb came to rest on her clit and she hissed through her teeth as he started to work it in circles again. Coupled with the rough intrusion of his fingers she let out one last, prolonged moan as she tensed with her orgasm.

The arch in her back finally fell as she collapsed onto the bed, her hands still above her head and sweat dripping from her stressed and overheated body. He worked his fingers inside of her slowly now, watching her come back from the high of her orgasm. Ulfric was fascinated by the way her body responded to an orgasm; so lively.

"Fuck me." She whispered as an idyllic smile graced her features.

A sharp smack to her bottom made her gasp, "I don't believe that's the way Queens talk."

"I'm no Queen," her eyes were still closed as his hands wrapped around her thin waist.

"Not yet." He mumbled before flipping her over. He positioned himself in between her legs and stroked himself a few times, using his free hand to squeeze her round backside lewdly. He could hear her weary crooning muffled into the blankets and she raised her hips up, keeping her chest low to the bed. His eyes roamed over her back – appreciating the delicate dips of her shoulder blades and the light scars that trailed down from her left shoulder to her lower right side. A sigh left her as he kissed and nipped his way from her lower back to the base of her neck. He carefully avoided the fresh cut at the base of her skull and he sighed into her hair, poising the tip of his cock to her wet folds.

"I want to hear you scream. Understood?" A whimper was all he received in response and he suddenly gripped her hair, pulling her neck back painfully. She gasped and he slowly inched into her.

"You will scream. Am I understood?" He growled aggressively into her ear and she bellowed in response.

He released her hair and grabbed her hips with both of his hands, thrusting into her fully with no caution. She howled as he did, and she gripped the sheets on the bed until her knuckles were a distressing shade of white.

Ulfric paused and controlled himself as her tightness consumed him – it had been a long time, yes, but he'd sooner submit to the Thalmor than finish before a woman. She pushed her hips back, desperate to encourage him to move – but Ulfric refused to give into her. He towered over her body and pushed her shoulders down into the mattress. She let out a surprised gasp but didn't protest.

He withdrew from her heat almost completely before he slammed back into her, pleasure raking over his body. The Dragonborn didn't peep but sought for him to move with her twisting hips. He chuckled and pandered to her, pulling out and slamming back in again. This time she murmured his name into the sheets – his pride soaring at the realization that the legend of the Dragonborn was his and his alone in these few moments.

Ulfric started a steady pattern – the only noises in the room being the slapping of their skin upon contact and her delightful moans. Releasing her shoulders, his hands sought her breasts and he teased the sensitive flesh with his calloused hands as his paced picked up. He rested his head in the crook of her neck where he left several obvious love bites and a groaned deeply.

"Ulfric," the Dragonborn whined as goose bumps covered her skin.

"Hm?" His deep grunt reverberated through her entire body as he slammed into her over and over again.

Arching her back again, she turned her head over her shoulder, revealing her watering eyes, "harder."

Ulfric felt his heart skip a beat as he slammed into her harder and she yelled – her face dropping back into the bed. He smirked and picked his pace up, admiring in the lovely yelps that filled the room. Ulfric clutched a handful of her dark hair and pulled her neck back again, plunging into her so hard that he lost himself. He groaned noisily as he felt her womanhood clench around his cock tightly and her final shriek shook the walls.

Ulfric grunted as he continued rail her through her orgasm. She writhed madly beneath him and squealed multiple times. He gripped her backside as he pulled her into him again, smacking it harshly one more time before he felt himself tip over the edge. He bit back his final groan as he spilled into her, stars invading his vision.

The Dragonborn collapsed beneath him and panted deeply, strands of her hair obscuring her face. Ulfric labored to keep himself from falling on top of her and he rolled to the side, placing an arm over his face. They lay like that for a long time – the silence being a refreshing turn of events. The bed moved and Ulfric moved the arm that covered his eyes to peek at the beautiful, flushed woman before him. She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched her arms out yawning pleasantly.

"How did you get the tie off?" He looked at her free yet raw wrists.

"You can't tie a knot to save your life," she snapped cockily and fell back on the bed next to him. She curled a leg around Ulfric's and he frowned, pulling away from her.

"You mean you…"

"Yes. I was playing along. Doesn't mean that I didn't like it though. Next time, I get to do the slapping."

She winked and pulled herself closer to him.

Ulfric felt sick regardless of his immense satisfaction.

She had lured him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello all, I wanted to get this chapter out as quickly as possible, so here you go! I hope you all enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all._

* * *

Ulfric sat on his throne in the Palace of the Kings, staring ahead apathetically. It had been a long day and as Jorleif debriefed him about the state of his city and the rest of Skyrim, he listened passively, answering neutrally whenever needed.

It had been two weeks since the final battle and sleep had finally made it back to him albeit restless sleep. He looked better and felt better, but his outward appearance was the ultimate farce for how troubled he felt inside. The mundane day to day responsibilities of being the Jarl of Windhelm was miniscule compared the broad scale of things and he found himself secretly wanting to pawn off the job to someone else.

The Empire was out of Skyrim, a cause he had fought for so long had finally come to fruition and opened up Skyrim to new threats. He knew deep down inside what he was doing by giving the Empire the final push out of the country but he had no clue how to proceed. Then again, that wouldn't even fall on him if he wasn't declared king by the moot, which was due to happen in a month or so.

That brought up a whole new realm of fears and matters that he didn't want to face right now. He shook his head ever so slightly as to erase the face of the woman who had beset his thoughts regularly now.

"My Jarl, are you feeling ill?"

Ulfric snapped out of his daze and surveyed the room. Jorleif, who had asked the question, was eyeing him with concern. Galmar had turned his attention to the exchange and they both looked to him expectantly.

Clearing his throat, he sat up in his chair, "I feel fine. I was lost in thought, forgive me. Please continue."

"I'm finished, sire." Jorleif resigned to the table and began eating with Galmar. Ulfric felt anxious, as he didn't want to provoke doubt, and stood from his throne to join them as they ate.

He pulled chicken and some bread on his plate, picking at it indecisively as his friends maintained conversation. His thoughts wandered to her as he ate his food.

Not a single word from her since the incident in the baths. He felt something stir deep within him as he recollected that day. The passion he had experienced at the expense of his ego had shaken him deeply. His body loved it and yearned for it and he hated that. He was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, the future High King of Skyrim and yet he allowed that woman to… deceive him? Humiliate him? Seduce him? Blackmail him?

He conceded to himself that she had done all of those things with ease. It didn't make any sense and he didn't expect it to until she came forth to him and they discussed it, something he anticipated with fervor and dread. He finished his food and excused himself from the table, his two comrades watching him with uneasiness. His odd behavior had been noticed and debated many times in private between the two.

Galmar figured it was Rikke's death and the future responsibility that he faced that had caused Ulfric to detach from everything around him while Jorleif had his rightful theory of the Dragonborns involvement. Jorleif had spoken to the young woman many times and had answered questions about his Jarls bachelorhood. He supposed she was chasing him or he was chasing her but Galmar laughed it off.

"_The Dragonborn? That young thing? Ulfric may be my blood brother but I don't see that happening." _

Meanwhile, Ulfric walked to the barracks that evening and hailed three young men. They hurried toward him with enthusiasm and stood rigidly in front of him.

"Where is your post as of right now?" He had asked the two, staring them down.

The older of the two glanced at the other two momentarily before answering, "We're posted here tonight but leaving for Whiterun in the morn, sire."

Ulfric offered them a welcoming smirk, "Great. Then I supposed you wouldn't mind dropping this off to the Dragonborn while you're there, would you?" He held up a letter with the seal of Windhelm and the oldest claimed it, nodding obediently.

The Jarl then went straight to his bedchambers where he attempted to sleep. He allowed himself to think of that night in detail and he felt the familiar pressure of arousal building up in him. The way she moved over him with confidence, pulled his hair without fear, screamed with desire… He craved it again.

He felt himself slipping deeper into this chasm she had dragged him in as he forced himself to sleep, phantom sensations of her skin against his lingered with him throughout the night.

* * *

As night cast its dark shroud on Whiterun, Ophelia the Dragonborn, ending her fourth consecutive day of binge drinking in a proper fashion, stumbled through the doorway of Breezehome. Lydia, her housecarl, looked up from her book to take in the wretched sight before returning to it casually.

Ophelia eyed the other Nord before groaning loudly and slamming the door, sliding to the floor with her back against it.

"L-Lydia." The Dragonborn stuttered and laid her head against the hard wooden door.

"Yes, my Thane?" Lydia sat the book down and stood, casting a critical eye down at the woman.

"Help me to my – my bed please." She threw her arms up roughly and stiffly. Lydia walked over to her slowly and took them, helping her up.

"I'm such a terrible person, Lydia. You're my only friend." Ophelia rested her head against Lydia's shoulder. Lydia wrapped her arms around the other womans waist to help her up the steps.

"Yes, yes. You've told me this before." The housecarl droned on as she assisted her up the steps. This wasn't an unusual ritual. Lydia liked to think of Ophelia as a functioning drunk. The woman had been through a lot in her short life and was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. On her off days she liked to read at home, go hunting or binge drink and start enough fights to be labeled a felon. Lydia felt as if she could excuse it most of the time, although it was rather annoying.

Once at the top of the stairs Lydia fumbled with balancing other woman's weight with unlocking the bedroom door of her Thane. After several failed attempts, Ophelia braced herself roughly against the wall and help up an authoritative hand. Lydia watched in amusement as she swayed back and forth.

Taking a deep breath, Ophelia stared aggressively at the door, "Fus Ro!"

The shout threw open the door with a crack, splintering it near the handle and sent the rug behind it flying. The small home trembled from the shock wave of the shout and Ophelia snickered merrily, swinging herself into the room. Lydia followed closely behind, keeping an eye out for broken furniture.

Ophelia attempted to get her boots off before she fell backwards and hit her head against the footboard of the bed. She winced and cried out, holding the back of head while she curled in a ball on the floor. The other woman came up and helped her stand up, noticing the blood that seeped from a scab on the back of her head. Lydia sat her down on the side of the bed and tended to the wound while Ophelia took off her boots off finally.

"How did you get this cut on the back of your head?" Lydia muttered, mainly to herself.

Ophelia cackled before answering cryptically, "I got – got it from when I slept with someone."

The housecarl couldn't help but roll her eyes. Her Thane's sexual exploits were many and usually quite interesting, but right now she needed to clean her wound and get her to bed.

"It was Ulfric Stormcloak."

The bottle containing a healing potion clattered to the wooden floor and Lydia quickly turned her friend around.

"What?"

"That was my reaction too," Ophelia smiled dreamily and lay back on the bed. Lydia still gawked at the woman, eyes wide and jaw slacked.

"It was amazing, if you were wondering. I asked him to marry me. I was drunk and it was heat of the moment but I figured that it would suit us both best if we went ahead with it… Not to say we're married yet, but I think plans are in the making. I hope." The words clumsily spilled out of Ophelia's mouth as she drifted off to sleep.

"Wait… Wait… Ophelia, you're joking, right? Right?" Lydia, still stunned, shook her friend in an effort to wake her from impending sleep. She wanted to know more about what she was talking about – whether or not it was truth. Soon, the Dragonborn snored contently as sleep overtook her.

Lydia, after sitting next to the sleeping form for several minutes while trying to gather her thoughts about what just happened, rolled her friend onto her side with a pillow beneath her back and took her leave from the room.

That couldn't have been true.

_Ulfric Stormcloak?_ Lydia's eyes narrowed and she shook her head_. He was honorable and brave, but not exactly what she would define as handsome or viable for having children_.

_Perhaps she was after the throne?_ Ophelia wasn't one to do that kind of thing – yes, she was rough around the edges but she wasn't power hungry. She hated the power she already had.

Lydia spent quite some time pacing the floors of Breezehome, considering Ophelia's confession before she retired for the night. As she lay in bed, her mind continued to race. This was a peculiar situation. A peculiar situation, indeed.

* * *

Ophelia woke from her slumber the next morning when someone knocked loudly on the door to Breezehome. When she opened her eyes she noticed the room was pitch black, as the candle had seemingly burned out overnight, and she felt so sick that she could barely function.

Reaching blindly from the edge of her bed, she found her boots and pulled them on quickly, not bothering to buckle them. She felt her way to the door and attempted to pull it open, only to be frustrated when she felt it jam on her suddenly. She pulled harder and it unwedged itself, causing her to stumble back unceremoniously, she regained her composure and made note of the defective door before pulling it open completely.

The bright light from downstairs caused her eyes to pulse painfully and she squinted while wincing from the discomfort, and gingerly made her way down the steps. Once at the base she saw the front door opened and Lydia speaking to someone outside.

"Lydia, who is it?" Her voice rasped abnormally and she coughed and grabbed a goblet of water from the table. Lydia turned and acknowledged her Thane before stepping aside, letting the silhouette in front of the impossibly bright light of Whiterun step in the house. Ophelia's eyes needed time to adjust to the light and when they did she was surprised to see a young man dressed in a Stormcloak cuirass.

Ophelia quirked an eyebrow, "to whom do I owe this awakening?"

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm wanted you to receive this as quickly as possible." The young man procured a letter and she eyeballed it for a moment before taking it.

"Thank you." She said before reaching in her pocket to throw him some septims. He nodded, bowed and took his leave, slowly shutting the door as he left.

Ophelia overlooked the envelope before setting it down on the table. She smiled brightly at Lydia.

"I'm assuming it was you who was so nice enough to help me into bed last night?"

Lydia couldn't help the smirk that formed on her face, "yes."

Ophelia chuckled and grabbed an apple from a crate in the back of the kitchen before she sat down at the table, the letter directly in front of her. She noticed Lydia's odd expression but didn't comment on it. She ate her apple and drank her water in quiet. She noticed Lydia fiddling with the rag on the table, her eyes darting from object to object nervously.

"You okay?" Ophelia asked before taking another bite of her apple.

"Are you really marrying Ulfric?" Lydia asked hurriedly and Ophelia's eyes shot up quickly, her face flushing.

"What do you mean?" She spoke with a mouthful and coughed a little.

"I mean, last night you told me you slept with Ulfric and you were planning on marrying him."

Ophelia sat in shameful silence and chewed the remainder of her apple. When she swallowed, she tensely answered, "I… Yes. I did."

Lydia and her made eye contact for several seconds before Lydia responded.

"Why?"

"I'm not too sure, but I'd rather not talk about it." Ophelia deflected and finished off her water.

"I'm sorry to pry I'm just… so confused!" Lydia couldn't help but tease and Ophelia shot her a glare. Lydia quieted down and looked at the floor.

"I know, but it would be in your best interest to mind your own business and not say anything when it comes to this matter. I told you, that's all you need to know."

Lydia took the menacing tone in stride and nodded. She understood Ophelia's need for vagueness but still felt unsatisfied with the fact that she didn't get an explanation. She cleaned her mess and went upstairs to leave her Thane alone.

Ophelia was furious with herself. She slammed her fist down on the table and groaned. She knew her alcohol issue was enough to make her do stupid things, but nothing this reckless. Berating herself intrinsically, she grabbed the letter and opened it abruptly, her eyes scanning over it quickly.

_Dragonborn,_

_Come to Windhelm at once. I need to talk to you face to face. Please._

_Ulfric._

She sighed and placed the letter on the table, running her hands through her hair. She was hung over and stressed about Lydia's knowledge of her now complicated relationship with Ulfric. Lydia was a trusted confidant but she just couldn't bring herself to be comfortable with Lydia knowing this. Nothing was even set in stone.

She reached down and buckled her boots, pinned her cloak around her shoulders and threw her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She would go to Windhelm – alone.

* * *

That evening, the same mind numbing ritual of the Jarl came and went. Throughout the day, Jorleif had brought in citizens to ask questions and voice concerns to the Jarl directly, which in turn, he would confidently answer or placate.

The security around the castle was tight and he felt as if he had no privacy – something he had grown accustomed to in the past years. However, with the war still freshly ended, assassination attempts were more likely to occur. He did not complain, just sat in his Throne and took the day in stride. He couldn't help the way his eyes scanned the crowd of people for a certain woman. She was on his mind all day, and he couldn't seem to shake it.

By sunset he had given up on her appearance that day and retired early. He made a point not to speak to people too much, as Galmar had already caught two Empire operatives and several suspicious High Elves had entered the city. Eyes and ears were everywhere and he chose to avoid their attentions.

He lay in bed that night by himself, relaxing as the fire crackled and popped behind him, the warmth of it bringing him much needed ease. His room was dark except for the fire and a small candle on his desk. His eyes felt heavy with sleep and he began to give in, his body relaxing and his mind finally calming down.

"Don't sleep yet. I thought you wanted to talk to me face to face." A hushed whisper came from the darkest corner of his room, by the window. Ulfric sat up in bed, his heart racing and his instinct telling him to grab the dagger he always kept underneath the mattress. He then calmed slightly at his recognition of the voice.

"Do not frighten me, _woman_. Times are dangerous and I don't wish to shout you out the window." He breathed and sat up fully, the chilliness of the air hitting his bare chest.

From the dark corner came forth the Dragonborn. She was dressed in a plain white tunic that was far too thin for this weather, leather leggings and boots. Her quiver was placed neatly on her back and her bow dangled from her delicate fingers. She walked forward and laid her bow down on the chest at the foot of his bed and the quiver followed soon after.

Wordlessly, she waltzed over to his desk and picked up the small saucer with a sweet roll on it. She sat delicately next to him and began eating.

"Sorry, I only got here a few hours ago and didn't have the time to eat. I'm so hungry." She apologized with a mouthful of food and he just stared at her.

"You're awfully relaxed around me." He raised an eyebrow and watched her eat with slight disgust. She was downing the sweet roll as if was nothing.

She scoffed and shot him a look of incredulity, "We had sex. Of course I am. I would suggest you should act the same way around me, but the fact that you haven't even bothered to put trousers on makes me quite sure that you're comfortable enough."

He looked down at his lower half which was covered by the thick blanket and unconsciously pulled it closer to his body. He let her finish eating and she returned the plate to its spot before taking off her boots and sitting on his bed next to him.

"So… why did you want to see me?" She clasped her hands together and smiled at him.

He sighed, "Because we didn't exactly talk about what… what got us here in the first place."

She nodded and closed her eyes, "If you don't want to marry me, I take no offense."

He was silent and shocked. After all of this worrying and profound contemplation, she decides that she isn't concerned about marrying him anymore. She noticed that angered look on his face and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off.

"I can't believe you," he growled slightly, "You demand I marry you, you sleep with me… humiliate me, leave in the dead of night and I don't see you for a week and now you show up and tell me it didn't mean anything – any of it!?"

"I – " She attempted to speak but was silenced by his rough hand sliding over her mouth.

"No, you don't get to speak. I've spent this past week toiling and worrying about you and your intentions and now you come to me, heart in hand and you say I don't have to marry you?" He snarled in her face and he leaned towards her further. Her eyebrows furrowed and she gripped his hand tightly, pulling it away from her face and pushing him back into his previous spot.

"Shut up. Just shut – up. I'm worn-out, hung over, cold, still starving, I had to sneak my way past Gods know how many people to get into here and I don't even want to think about what the way out is going to be like," she groaned, overwhelmed by sentiment. "I don't want to argue… I do want to marry you and my reasons are my own and by some definition unexplainable. I do think it would be in both of our interests. However, I don't want you to marry me because you fear me or idolize me. I won't blackmail you, I won't usurp you, I wouldn't dream of harming you."

Ulfric's expression softened and he remained silent, watching her as she feverishly explained herself.

"If you don't marry me, I will be on my way. There will be no love lost, no bad blood - nothing. I apologize for my behavior last week. It was unwise. It was cruel of me to lead you on into madness."

The admission of guilt left Ulfric quiet. He looked at her face, which was contorted into an expression of grief. She was sincere and now he was conflicted. He exhaled noisily and retreated to his thoughts.

He spoke eventually, his deep voice calm and tender, a pleasant surprise to Ophelia, "Why do you want to marry me – what would you gain from this?"

She shrugged, "I admire you greatly. I don't love you because I... well I don't know what love is. I can't confidently say I've ever been in love. I supposed the great admiration I feel for you is, for me, just on par with love and I think that would constitute a fine marriage."

Her answer was frank and to the point, and he liked it. His eyes found hers and he felt his heartbeat intensify. His eyes travelled down to her lips and he felt the sudden urge to kiss her. Memories of their time under the castle flooded back to him and he shifted uncomfortably, forcing his gaze away from her.

"Do you see no positives in wedding me?" She inquired with conceit and he smiled, letting out the smallest laugh.

"I do. Our union would boost morale for this entire country. Also, you're attractive, you would carry fine children, and you're resilient… You can fight beautifully…"

Chuckling, she interrupted, "If it would please you, I could write an entire book on my skills and talents."

"You would make an insufferable wife." He mocked as she pushed his shoulder in jest. His laughter subsided and he looked to her in seriousness.

"If we are to get married, it would have to be before the moot. And we must make a big deal about it… once we're ready of course."

Ophelia nodded in agreement, "Naturally. Yet the moot won't happen until I take care of Alduin. Which I'm still… dealing with…"

Ulfric stopped before attempting to venture onto that topic, "How is that coming along?"

"That's private dragon business." She teased but no smile crossed her face and when he didn't smile she continued on awkwardly, "Right now we're trying to find the best way to deal with Alduin. Rumor has it that there's an Elder Scroll somewhere in the wild with information about a shout that could help greatly… Then again this is all educated guessing."

She rubbed the back of her neck and continued, "I'm leaving tomorrow for High Hrothgar tomorrow afternoon. They said they'll send me off to retrieve it. Gods know how long it will take…"

Ulfric hummed in response and leaned on his arm, his full abdomen being revealed to her. Her eyes glanced down and she bit the inside of her cheek. He took note of this and let the blanket fall down a bit further. Again, she glanced and then made straight eye contact with him.

"You're not afraid of death, are you? They're going to send you off to some terrible place and you won't even bat an eyelash." He smirked and she raised an eyebrow.

"It's not as if I have no say in the matter or that I have no feelings regarding it. I trust in my ability and the Gods. I don't think this quest would have been thrust upon me if they didn't think I could handle it. This quest is my life and if I fail, I die. I'm not one to fail things, so I don't think I'll be dying." Her arrogance was evident in her voice and it rubbed him the wrong way. He let it slide and looked on.

They both rested in contentment for a few moments before she moved off the bed and stretched.

"I better be off. I have another long day ahead of me tomorrow." She picked up her cloak and began pinning it around her shoulders and she reached for her bow and quiver.

"When will I see you again?" At risk of sounding too attached, he kept the question casual and distant.

She contemplated momentarily before responding, "Send a letter to High Hrothgar in three days. Use my real name from now on, most people don't know it, so it won't rouse suspicion."

"Wait… What is your real name?" His eyebrows furrowed and she smiled sarcastically.

"I never told you because you never asked or seemed to care." She leered and turned her back to him.

His eyes narrowed and he asked again, "What is your real name?"

"Ophelia!" She replied and opened his window, climbing on the edge, peering outside.

"Ophelia? That's too far of a delicate name for the likes of you." He scoffed and she stuck out her tongue.

"Farewell, Ophelia."

She straddled the windowsill and blew him a kiss, "Farewell, Ulfric."

She rolled herself out of the window, closing it behind her. For the first time in a week, Ulfric slept soundly.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all! So this chapter took me wayyyy longer than expected to work on and I apologize for the delay. I really appreciate all of the follows and favorites and reviews. It keeps me motivated! :) This chapter jumps around a lot and I hope everything ties together well. I apologize for any grammatical errors that I might have missed, I'm going to wind up re-editing this a few times so will be taken care of. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Smut & some minor talk of wounds.

* * *

Days passed since Ophelia's departure from Windhelm and Ulfric felt considerably better about the arrangement. Her intentions were clear now and he brought himself to trust her. After all, she did nearly go to hell and back to help his cause and protect him. She opened herself up for him in ways he wouldn't ever have imagined.

He knew they wouldn't be the epitome of romantic compatibility. He didn't love her, after all. But Ulfric assumed that it was best he didn't love her. He had experienced love negatively in his life; from his mother's embrace as a child to his last long term lover in his adult life, he had always found misfortune. He brushed off the thoughts regularly, deciding that wallowing in self-pity over something so menial compared to real issues was a waste of time.

On the third day of her absence, he sent off a letter to High Hrothgar, requesting to see her again. He was pleased when his courier returned the sunset of the fourth day, confirming that the letter had been delivered. He relaxed that evening, expecting a response or if he was lucky, a visit within a day or two.

He ate dinner that evening in the main hall with Galmar, Jorleif, and Yrsarald. Conversation was easy to keep with this company and he was grateful, as he needed to take the time to simply talk to converse with other people. The mead flowed quite liberally that evening, and by the time everyone else was asleep in the castle, sans the guards, the four men were drunk and boisterous as ever.

They moved to the kitchen for the food, talking about old battles, new battles, future battles, love, loss, family, anything really. A few hours later, Ulfric was exhausted. He was about to take his leave from the other men but was quite drunk and comfortable… he didn't want to move.

"So Ulfric," Yrsarald took a hefty sip of his mead, "have you thought about taking a bride yet. You'll be King soon enough!"

Ulfric, who up until this point merrily drank and conversed with his friends, spoke quietly and deliberately, the cheerful drunkenness gone from him, "That's not something I think I need to worry about yet. The time will come –"

"When you're dead? You're becoming an old man, Ulfric. Your ship is about to set sail and when it does… it doesn't come back!" Galmar coarsely joked and the other men laughed noisily. Ulfric grimaced, which made them laugh harder.

"Seriously friend, there are many fine women in this city alone who are waiting to spread their legs after your coronation service." Yrsarald was attempting to make light of the awkward situation and cheer up his Jarl but only wound up grating him even more.

Ulfric prepared to speak up again but this time was cut off by Jorleif, who had remained rather quiet on the whole subject, "He already has a woman, lads."

Everything quieted down swiftly and all eyes were on him. He couldn't find any words to say so he opted for chugging the rest of his mead. The other men watched him like a hawk, making it apparent that they weren't going to say anything until he did.

Ulfric gave in, his voice gruff and displeased, "Fine. I am betrothed to someone. I'm sure you lot would understand my need for discretion."

The three men in front of him all looked down at the floor, seemingly ashamed of pestering and teasing him.

"I'm sorry my Jarl, I didn't know." Yrsarald made the clear apology and Ulfric bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"How did you know, Jorleif?" Ulfric inquired, anxious that his trusted friend was perhaps infringing on his private life.

Jorleif shrugged, "I guessed, sire. I could tell what weighed on your mind recently was a woman."

"It's always easy to tell when it's a woman," Galmar slurred, wagging a finger at Ulfric, "When can we meet her?"

Ulfric, stony as ever, took one last sip of his wine and stood, "I'm retiring for the night."

"You didn't answer my question!" Galmar teased again while the other men looked on.

"I don't need to." Ulfric left the room and walked up to his bedroom, slamming the door shut. He stripped quickly, the alcohol in his system making him feel sluggish and heavy. He lay down in bed, restless as ever.

He tossed and turned, thoughts of Ophelia overwhelming him. Her lack of presence drove him to isolation and exasperation. He wanted her near again. Last time he desired to touch her but didn't out of respect. Next time would be different, he promised to himself. The last time he experienced such eroticism about someone who wasn't even near him was when he was in his teens. No woman made such an impression on him.

He cleared his mind as he moved his way under the covers, trying to ignore his erection. After all, she promised to be back within the next day or so. He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, seeking sleep.

* * *

In the everlasting darkness of Blackreach, Ophelia, cloaked in black, traversed quietly along the wet ground, bow at the ready. She didn't know how long she had been there… whether it had been one day or seven was a mystery to her. All she knew was that she had a job that needed to be completed and this alone drove her deeper into the abyss.

Along the ground she came across a rather large boulder that blocked her way. She threw her bow over her shoulder, gripped the slick edge of the rock with her calloused fingers and tried to pull her body up. While hanging from it, her grip slipped due to the moisture and she stumbled back to the ground. She huffed with frustration into her cowl and wiped her wet hands on her armor before trying again. This time she pulled her body up and looped her leg over it, using it as leverage to pull her body fully onto the rock.

Once standing on it she pulled her cowl back and scouted what was ahead of her. Behind her stood the fortress that contained the Falmer masters and their captives. Sadly, reason was lost on all parties and she put them out of their misery as swiftly as possible. She had taken the Eastern route, or so she thought, around the fortress and lethargically snuck along the edge.

In front of her, some ways away, was what looked like towers… enormous towers. She didn't know how long it would take to reach them but she bitterly decided that it was her only available option.

She was drained and had already run out of food. Fortunately, she came across something passable in the fortress – although not much. Water was what she needed, but she didn't trust the foul smelling liquid that pooled at the bottom of Blackreach. Her mouth and throat burned and her head felt too heavy. Out of all the trials she had faced, this was surely the vilest.

Impatiently, she readjusted her cowl and slide down the face of the rock, hitting cobblestone when she landed. She bounced up and looked down in surprise. She was on an actual path. Smiling to herself, she pulled her bow back out and continued to follow the cobblestone path for some time, not running into anything living except the massive mushrooms that loomed overhead.

Once she reached the first tower, she scaled around the whole base of it to find an entrance. No such luck. She decided to move on to the next one and along the patch she came across a bridge, underneath which rested a centurion. She swallowed thickly once she realized what it was and took several steps back, taking point on a rock off the road.

Suddenly, a feint vibration in the ground reached her, follow by another and another. She gauged the entire area out of panic, feeling her stomach twist with uneasiness. On the other side of the bridge appeared a Giant, holding his club and walking along the path idly. He paused in front of the bridge and surveyed the area, fortunately looking over Ophelia.

Ophelia, not in the best shape to fight a giant or a centurion, grieved as to how she was going to get around him. He shifted from foot to foot and looked bored, gently brushing the edge of his club against the cobblestone he stood on.

Not thinking clearly, and desperately wanting to move on, she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and shot it at the centurion, missing him terribly. The machine woke and broke from his bounds, looking alert. Ophelia cursed herself up one side and down another in her head while the machine began frantically looking around, trying to find what shot the mysterious arrow.

She steadied herself on the rock and prepared to take off running… But she didn't need to. The giant, hearing and the commotion that the centurion caused, walked down to the road that ran under the bridge and began charging at the machine that had his back turned.

He shoulder bashed the centurion, which fell with a loud clanking sound and slid several feet down the road, right below the perch that Ophelia was sitting perfectly still on. The giant advanced towards it, raising its club aggressively and the centurion struggled to stand. The giant swung the club down when he was in reach and the machine deflected it with its arm, sending it flying. The giant, bewildered by the sudden disappearance of his weapon, received a clenched Dwemer metal fist to its face.

The two fought noisily as Ophelia looked on with awe. This was surely a sight to be seen – no one would believe her if she told them. The centurion hit the giant with a frost spell that took him off guard and he let out a snarl, lunging at the machine and tackling it to the cobblestone, beating the life out of it with its massive hands.

The centurion lay broken on the ground of Blackreach and the giant stood slowly, judging the machine cautiously before walking off in search of his club.

She seized the opportunity and aimed a careful arrow at the back of the giant's head and released it. It fell short, hitting the creature in the back of his neck. He stumbled forward and fell on a knee. Ophelia drew another arrow and let it fly. It lodged itself in the back of his skull and he fell to the ground, finally dead.

Once lowering herself from the rock she was perched on, she continued leisurely down the long cobblestone road, feeling more optimistic than ever.

* * *

_Ten days_.

Ten damn days since she promised she would be back.

Ulfric took his place on his throne, his patience wearing thin. She was either ignoring him or something had happened. He fought to keep face but while alone the only things he could bring himself to do were write her letters he would never send and drink heavily.

His leg bobbed up and down over and over again – a symptom of his antagonizing anxiety that came along with her prolonged absence. Jorleif droned on and on about something that he didn't give a shit about and nearly everyone in the room could tell.

The doors to the Palace opened wide a few moments later and a Nord woman he recognized vaguely walked it. He brushed it off as someone looking for work and returned to his compulsive worrying, looking down at a scroll that had been handed to him by Jorleif earlier that day.

"Where is she?" A strong feminine voice reached from the far end of the hall.

Ulfric looked up and Jorleif hastily walked towards the woman, motioning the guards to prepare for something, "You speak up in a Jarls court without permission?"

The woman grabbed the hilt of her blade and kept her hand there, never taking her eyes off of Ulfric.

She asked again, pointedly at Ulfric, "Where is she?"

Ulfric guessed this woman's presence was in connection to the Dragonborn and stood, waving his guards away and making his way towards her, keeping his calm demeanor.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

The woman curled her lip, her eyes shone bright with anger, "Ophelia."

Ulfric was taken aback by the use of her name and his face fell but he kept his tone even, "Jorleif, have the guards stand down. Ma'am, if you wouldn't mind following me."

Jorleif looked on with concern but proceeded unquestioningly, backing away. Ulfric walked briskly to the war room and held the door open for the woman, closing it behind her when she entered.

"Where is she?" The woman asked again, conveying great impatience.

"I should be asking you that. I haven't seen her in nearly a fortnight." He kept calm and clasped his hands behind his back, "Who are you?"

The woman clenched her fists, "I'm Lydia of Whiterun, honored housecarl to the Thane of Whiterun."

"Such formalities for someone so vexed. I know not where she is."

"I know she was here and I know that you were the last person to see her before she went to get the Elder Scroll."

"Pardon?" The Jarl feigned ignorance.

"I know about your little arrangement with her. She _must_ have told you something." Lydia's whispered fiercely and his eyes narrowed.

"If you cared for your Thane's protection the perhaps you should have used more discretion when searching for her. Simply busting in my court and making demands regarding her isn't helping us keep this a secret."

Lydia struggled to calm herself down, "Please excuse me. It is my duty to protect her and I am worried."

"As am I." Ulfric's face was blank and he shrugged while continuing, "I do not know where she is. She gave me no details about the location of this expedition of hers."

Lydia crossed her arms, "She was going to Blackreach to retrieve the Elder Scroll… She didn't tell me anything else in the letter but that she would see me soon."

"Blackreach?" Ulfric questioned, "I thought that old place was a legend."

"People thought Dragons were legends, too." Her sarcasm was brash but he let it slide. It was clear that she was distraught about her Thane's disappearance.

"You should go back to Whiterun. When she gets out it will be you she seeks first, not I." He muttered and she looked at him, opening her mouth to say something but shut it again, "If she is there right now, she is wondering where you are."

Lydia shut her mouth and thought over the idea for a few seconds, "If she does not return in five days, I'm coming back and you and I are looking for her."

It wasn't a request, but rather, a demand. He never appreciated being commanded around by a woman but he agreed wordlessly for Ophelia's sake. Lydia put her cowl up and left without another word.

When she left the war room, he leaned against the table to gather his thoughts. He feared more than he would ever admit for her safety. He wished she would appear out of nothing like she always seemed to do, but she didn't. This wasn't some sort of elaborate ploy for his attention or avoidance. She was missing, and it hurt him deeply.

He sighed and ran a hand through his long hair, feeling overwhelmed by emotion. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, imagining her waltzing through the Palace of the Kings without a care in the world, simply glad to see him. Warmth blossomed in his chest, followed by a surge of absolution.

Opening his eyes, he was back in the dreaded reality of defeat and confusion. He sucked in a deep breath again and released it quickly, pushing all thoughts of her out his mind and put on his straight-faced façade. Jorleif waited for him on the other side of the door when he finally returned, prompting him with questions about the woman and her inquiry. Ulfric wordlessly send him away and he continued with his daily activities, holding out a secret hope that she was still alive.

* * *

The next night, Ulfric awoke with a jolt to a harsh knocking on his door. He gasped for breath desperately as he took in his surroundings. He was home, he was safe. He hastily dressed himself as a guard called for him politely from outside of his room.

The scars on his back ached dully and he grunted as he pulled his clothing on. It wasn't often that he thought about what the Thalmor did to him… it wasn't often that he did. Nightmares would chase him every so often, reminding him.

"My Jarl." A guard called from outside of the door, "someone is requesting you."

His mind raced as he quickly pulled on his boots, "Who is it?"

"A – A dark Elf, sir. He appears to be a priest. He has a letter from High Hrothgar. He says it's of utmost importance."

_A dark elf?_ He frowned slightly but took it as a positive sign anyways. His heart raced as he opened the door and hurried his way past the guards to this visitor. A rather tall dark Elf in robes waited for him by the throne. The Elf spotted him and bowed as a greeting.

"Greetings Jarl Ulfric. I apologize for inconvenience but I have a very important message to deliver." He held up an envelope that was used by most at High Hrothgar.

Ulfric took it wordlessly and opened it. In it was a simple piece of paper with a small message written in familiar hand writing. It was Ophelia's.

_Ulfric,_

_I'm unable to come to you, but I am safe. I will try to make it to Windhelm soon._

_-Ophelia_

"Stand down. Return to your normal posts." Ulfric commanded and then pointed to the Dark Elf, "You, follow me."

The Elf followed him into the war room and he motioned for him to sit.

"What is your name?" Ulfric was ill tempered.

The Dark Elf grinned and bowed his head modestly, "I am Erandur, Priest of Mara and good friend of Ophelia's."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Aye. She came to my Shrine of Mara just outside of Dawn Star two days ago. She was ill and injured. I have begun nursing her back to health. This past afternoon she wanted me to make you aware of her status."

"Is someone watching over her while you've been gone?" Ulfric's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes. Trusted colleagues of mine are watching over her as we speak."

The Jarl sighed in relief but still had questions, "What was wrong with her?"

"She was malnourished, dehydrated, and poisoned. She suffered two major wounds – one on her shoulder and one on her waist – both of which were infected. Although she struggled at first, I'm convinced she will make a full recovery."

Ulfric nodded wordlessly his stomach churned at the thought of her suffering. He forced the thought from his head and cleared his throat, "Does – does she require anything?"

"Perhaps you." Erandur chuckled, "She was calling for you when her fever was at its peak. She was terrified."

The guilt that hit Ulfric took him by surprise. While she was nearly dying he was drinking in his safe luxurious palace. That was no way an honorable Nord should take care of his woman.

Wait.

_His _woman? Where did that come from?

He let it go without a word.

"Perhaps," he hesitated a little, "I will visit."

"I think that would be best." Erandur bowed his head once and stood, "I will take my leave now. If you are coming to visit, I am hosting her in the fort just over Dawn Star, you can't miss it."

"Thank you." Ulfric stood and offered the Dark Elf his hand, which he took gratefully. Erandur let his hand go and swiftly left the room.

As soon as he heard the large doors close in the main hall he left the war room and rushed to his quarters. The guard stationed outside looked at him with concern and Ulfric dismissed him. Once inside his room he took off his coat and his garb, settling for his old set of armor and a cloak to protect him and conceal his identity. He grabbed his sword and sheathed it in an ornate scabbard that was secured from his belt.

If he was to make this trip, he was to make it covertly and quickly. He made his way to Galmar's quarters and knocked softly, which he knew was more than enough to wake the paranoid old man up. He heard shuffling and footsteps on the other side of the door.

"What in oblivion do you want?" Galmar grunted as the door squeaked open. He looked Ulfric up and down once and laughed, "Where are you running off to in the night?"

"I have business in Dawn Star. No one is to know I'm gone. Understood?"

Galmar laughed gruffly, "Of course. At least take some of the boys with you, yeah?"

"I will. I'll return tonight." He muttered as he began walking off, hearing the door close. He couldn't afford to take guards with him, as they would be an imposition. He was forced to risk this journey alone.

He strode past his guards without a word and out of the Palace, feeling the cold air bite into his skin. He walked through his city, which was dark and quiet. It was refreshing to be in complete silence. By the look of the sky, it was only a mere couple of hours before the sun would begin to rise. He had time for his absence to go unnoticed and the ride to Dawn Star was a quick and easy one. The only dangerous thing on that northern road was the cold, which was something he was used to. Best case scenario, he figured he could catch up with Erandur.

Once on his horse, he took off quickly, keeping his hood up, his eyes and ears keen. He was ready for whatever Skyrim would throw at him.

* * *

As distant city bells and the wind reverberated in the nearly empty halls of what was formally known as Nightcaller Temple, Ophelia lay peacefully on her stomach, having just waked up from a beautifully restful bout of sleep. She watched the fire as it dimmed and whistled. Pulling the furs closer to her body to make up for the lack of heat, she was vaguely aware of the throbbing in her shoulder.

The two nights before this morning, she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness, covered in sweat and gasping for air before being engulfed in darkness once more. Erandur had patched her up with the help of his new protégés, Tauryon and Olava.

Tauryon, who had a particular interest and talent for restoration magic, had made the healing process nearly painless while Olava offered her prayers and words of comfort through the displeasure of her fever and night terrors. Both of them were very kind souls that Ophelia would never forget them.

She pushed herself up with her arms, wincing as sharp pains came from her shoulder and her right side. While the pain was annoying, it wasn't unbearable. She looked down her body and admired the clean and intricate bandaging. They had done an excellent job.

She put her feet to the cold floor and tried her best to stand, only to fall gracelessly and taking the table next to the bed with her. She shut her eyes her face flushed with humiliation as Tauryon peeked in the doorway.

She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, my lady. Please, let me help you." He came to her and gently helped her up sit up on the bed again and turned his attention to standing the table back up, "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah," she grunted as she re positioned herself comfortably, "If you don't mind, can you bring me a basin with water and a rag? I smell appalling."

"Of course, ma'am." He rushed out of the room and she untied her sweaty hair. Once it reached her shoulders she ruffled it, watching flicks of dirt fall to the ground and smelling Blackreach. She froze, feeling her stomach tighten – simply the smell of the place made her panic. She shivered and prepared to bath, stripping herself of her tunic gingerly and pulling her leggings down, leaving her in her smalls and bandages.

She waited patiently for the High Elf to return, relishing how the cool air kissed her skin. He reappeared shortly with a large basin filled with water, another which was empty, bathing oil, rags and new clothes.

He paused in the doorway momentarily, clearly not expecting to see the woman nearly nude. "Were you not ready for me to come in, my lady?"

Ophelia, pleasantly unaware of the awkwardness of the situation shook her head, "No, I'm ready."

He laughed nervously and placed the two basins next to each other on the floor and left the clothes on the small table that was in reach. He pulled a wooden chair over so that she could sit while bathing herself and walked over to help her.

He held her hands gently as she stood and put an arm underneath her good shoulder to help her keep her balance when he escorted her to the chair.

Once seated, she smiled at him again, "Thank you! I'm sorry for all of this trouble."

"You are no trouble, my lady." He smiled back, his eyes twinkling slightly, "I'll send Olava over so that when you're finished she can help you dress. I'll prepare you some food."

"Thanks…" She whispered once he closed the door, feeling remorseful. Ophelia hated when people doted over her. Sometimes when people learned she was the Dragonborn, they would attempt to help her with even the most simplest of things. She often wondered how she would manage to live as Queen.

She bathed herself unhurriedly and with deliberateness, trying to make sure any reminder of Blackreach was gone and her bandages untouched. Once she was satisfied with how clean her body was she moved on to washing her hair thoroughly. After, she rested in the nude by the fire for a long time, letting the dying warmth dry her as much as it could. As she warmed herself up, drowsiness nearly overtook her. She hadn't eaten much as of late and she began to feel the weakness of it. Even sitting straight exhausted her.

"Olava?" She called out, her eyes feeling heavy.

The other woman opened the door and peeked in, "Are you ready ma'am?

"Yeah."

Olava gracefully strode in, closed the door, and proceeded to dress the other woman in an oversized tunic. When she tried to put the leggings on Ophelia, the wounded woman protested softly. On the edge of sleep, Ophelia thanked her countless time and apologized for being useless. Olava chuckled at her behavior and wished her a good night.

As Ophelia's vision began to darken and the noises around her echoed into a soft chime, she randomly recalled the sensation of Ulfric's arms around her.

* * *

Ophelia woke suddenly with a low gasp for air. She lifted herself up, the sudden state awareness making her dizzy. Groaning out of weariness, she let herself slide back down into her original position; warm and content under the furs. She curled her legs under her body and pulled the furs over her head to drown out the echoing voices in the hall.

It worked and soon she was drifting back to her dreams of her childhood. As she felt the breeze of summer on her face, she was snapped back to consciousness by the door opening and closing with near silence. She began to turn to see who it was, but before she could comfortably do so the mysterious person spoke tenderly to her.

"Ophelia…"

She nearly jumped up, but stopped short due to pain. The voice was one she had longed to hear for near three weeks now. She forced herself to turn and face him. She smiled when she spotted his worn face.

"Ulfric," She breathed, her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

His face was impassive, as per usual, but she could tell by the way the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared that he was pleased to see her. Forcing herself up, she pressed her back against the cool stone wall of the fort for support.

"You look terrible." He reached down and toyed with the curly ends of her hair.

Keeping her eyes locked onto his, she smirked, "That's a surefire way to get yourself kicked out of a lady's bed chambers," her tone was light with humor and he snickered.

"When did you arrive?"

He leaned away from her and began taking off his heavy gloves, "Just now."

"Ah," She acknowledged, noticing the flakes of snow that still rested atop his head, "Is Galmar with you?"

He unpinned his cloak and swung it over the back of a chair, "No."

"Oh… Did you come alone?" She didn't mean to sound accusatory but it slipped out.

"Yes." He replied simply, a warning tone in his voice.

"What?" She became considerably louder, "Ulfric…"

He ignored her, continuing to take his armor off to be more comfortable. She became ill-tempered when he didn't respond.

"Ulfric." His name came out of her mouth rigidly and he turned.

"Yes?"

"That was stupid of you. I'm escorting you back. Immediately." She scolded and began to push herself off the bed and Ulfric, with a few long strides, placed a hand on her chest and pushed her back down gently so as to not hurt her.

"I do not need an escort. I followed Erandur here. I came for you, so appreciate this." His icy blue eyes burned into her and she calmed down, resigning back to her original position. Once she settled, he continued removing his outer layer of steel armor, revealing his tunic and leggings underneath.

Ophelia watched with fascination – admiring his broad, well-built body. Her body felt hot and uncomfortable in that moment and she pushed the furs down to beyond her feet. She sighed as she stretched her legs out and the cool air hit them. Ulfric turned his head to stare at her when she sighed and his eyes paused on her long, lean legs. She saw this and smirked when he licked his lips and hurriedly turned his head back around.

He pulled two bottles of mead from a barrel that hid in the corner of the room and dragged the chair he had left his cloak on over to her bedside. He took a seat and let his eyes wonder momentarily before bringing them to her face.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, leaning back in the chair. She looked down in her lap and sipped her mead

"I'm fine."

"That's a change from what Erandur told me. Tell me what happened."

"Well, I wasn't fine. But now I am." She flashed a cute smile but he scoffed at it.

"What happened?" His voice deepened significantly and she dropped the smile, looking down into the bottle neck of her mead.

Shaking her head, she replied, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"You've been gone for fifteen days on a three day long trip. I, of all people, deserve to know." Ulfric pointed out, setting his mead on the table. She was aggravated that he was pushing it but was too distracted by how his hands reached for the bread on the table and ripped it into pieces. He held a small piece of up to her and he insisted, "Please eat something. You look like you've lost a ton of weight."

Ophelia glowered but took it to nibble on, "I went down to Blackreach to get the Scroll. It's so dark down there. There's no food or fresh water, not a single living creature that isn't wretched. It was abysmal."

She swallowed her bread and took a swig of her mead before continuing, "I got lost. I don't know how long I was in there but I resorted to eating some food in a fortress I cleared out. I think that's what made me sick… Eventually I got the Scroll I was sent there to get – which is very heavy by the way – and I left. When I got out I found a road and tried to figure out my whereabouts. Then I was ambushed by Thalmor Justiciar, killed a few, escaped the rest and came here. The rest is history."

"Justiciar?"

She recoiled at how loud he had become and she outstretched her hand in an effort to placate him, "Yes, but I don't think they were after me I was just – wrong place, wrong time – You know how it goes…"She lied through her teeth and hoped he couldn't tell. When looting one of the bodies she came across an assassination order.

Ulfric scoffed and uncrossed his arms, leaning into her, "Wrong place, wrong time? Do you forget who you are? How utterly important you are?"

"No I haven't I just –" She tried to defend her decision but was met but Ulfric's hand over her mouth.

"Don't you dare run off like that again without taking someone with you."

Ophelia's blood boiled and she struck away his hand. He withdrew it and his harsh expression faded.

She clenched her teeth and her fists, "Who gave you the authority to tell me what I can and cannot do?" He remained silent, "Exactly. No one. Also, I hate it when you do that to me. Next time I'm punching you square in the mouth, I swear."

"You're such a loving fiancée." He mumbled sarcastically.

"You knew what you were signing up for, darling. If you don't like it, the door is right there." She threw back at him, bringing herself closer to the edge of the bed and rolling her eyes. She pulled some bread from the loaf on her own and began eating it, drinking from her mead bottle intermittently.

Ulfric, with a look of profound contemplation on his face, responded, "Promise me."

"Hm?" She grunted in response her mouth was full of bread and mead.

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, his face merely inches from hers. She swallowed and her heart raced from the closeness.

"Promise me you won't do something like that again. At least not without consulting with me, first. I recognize your duty but as your husband-to-be… I think I deserve to know. I would do the same for you."

"If you mean _ask for permission_ when you say consulting, then no." Ophelia was dead serious. His expression didn't change and he didn't utter a single word. Ulfric was a traditionalist – she knew this fact all and well – but she wasn't one to be held to such constraints.

She continued, "If you mean tell you and discuss it with you, then yes, I promise. I want to be with you Ulfric but I'm not yours to have and you're not mine to have. At least… not yet."

His tough face remained unresponsive but she knew better and reached for his hand caringly. He allowed her to take it and she leaned in closer, her forehead nearly touching his.

She whispered sweetly to him, "I appreciate your concern. The very fact that you rode here is something I'm eternally grateful for. I apologized for not being completely honest with you and running off but during these times even I don't know what I'm running off to or how long I'll be gone. I'll try my best to touch base with you and be with you when I can but until this is over and we're wed, you belong to this land and I belong to the sky."

He beamed and let out a delightful laugh. The sight and sound alone made Ophelia grin pleasantly, "What is it?"

"That was… so ridiculously eloquent." His laughter stopped but his smile remained, as did hers. His eyes met hers penetratingly and she brought his hand to her mouth, where she kissed the palm affectionately.

His face relaxed as he watched what she was doing with his hand. She brought it down to her thigh, where she left it. She brought both of her arms up and rested them on his shoulders, just observing him. His large, calloused hand stroked her smooth skin softly. He licked his lips again as he looked her over.

Ophelia, not being able to help herself, pulled his head towards her face and their lips met in a frenzy. Ulfric groaned passionately into her mouth and her body ached in the loveliest of ways. Their kissed deepened as his hands gripped and squeezed her exposed thighs. This time it was her turn to moan into the kiss, spreading her thighs as best as she could from her position, attempting to lure his hands onto her. Before she could take it any further he pulled away, his eyes heavily hooded and his lips parted and swollen.

"This isn't appropriate, Ophelia. Not here. Not like this." He mumbled, from above she took her time nipping and licking his neck.

"I'm the Dragonborn, I can do anything I want." Her hand gripped him through his leggings and he gripped her wrist, prying it away from his body.

"Ophelia," he scolded softly, "You're injured. This isn't the place."

The woman frowned and after a few seconds of struggling to get her wrist out of his grip, she gave up.

"I want you. Now." Her body was on fire.

"I know." He looked down at the floor. "We can't right now. You're injured and they have been gracious hosts; I do not wish to offend them."

Groaning out of frustration, she pushed herself back against the cool wall, letting her legs fall wide apart, revealing her small clothes covered womanhood to him. Her nipples, completely hardened, poked through her thick shirt. Ophelia could tell he was struggling and felt proud – she would get him to fall one way or another.

She gripped the edge of her tunic and she raised it slowly over her head, avoiding aggravating any of her wounds. After it was off, Ulfric's eyes locked onto her chest and she swore that she could see him physically twitch. Keep her gaze on him, she brought both of her hands up and groped her breasts, squeezing and playing with them.

Ulfric, apparently not knowing what to do with himself, gripped the edge of his chair. Ophelia smiled mischievously and while using her right hand to play with her breasts, her left hand deviously slithered down her body until it reached her barely covered mound.

"Opehlia…" He nearly begged, clearly torn. She bit her lip and let her head lull back while she rubbed herself through the thin fabric. As she pleasured herself, he watched as if he was mesmerized. A thrilling chill shot through her body as she teased him, sliding down the wall so she was pretty much horizontal in front of him.

"Ulfric."

"Yes?"

"Put your mouth on me." She knew she was traversing into sensitive territory but simply the thought of bossing the imposing man drove her mad with lust. She didn't bother to look down at him, mainly out of fear, but inhaled satisfyingly when she felt the fabric ripped off of her and his tongue lap at her entrance.

Ulfric's hands wrapped around her thighs and forced them apart, giving him a clear view of her body and face. The sensation of his facial hair against her inner thighs made her shiver. It was such an odd feeling to her, but it was pure ecstasy.

He slipped two fingers into her and she gasped again, holding back her moans. Every time she made the slightest noise, his grip on her thighs would tighten almost painfully. After some time, she raised her head to look down at him. His mouth was buried in between her legs, his gaze trained on her face. Her eyes began to roll back when his tongue circled around her clit teasingly as his fingers slammed in and out of her.

"Ulfric," she whispered with fervor, grabbing his hair tightly with her free hand. His eyes closed and he groaned into her, his tongue still lapping urgently at her clit. The pressure in her womb increased with every second. She pulled herself to sit up, her shoulder stinging painfully. She ignored it and with her hand tangled in his hair, she lifted her hips up higher.

Once more, he groaned into her. She swallowed thickly and let out a cry as she began tittering over the edge. His fingers curled inside of her, toying with the spot that brought her so much pleasure. She cried out and writhed, a fine sheen of sweat covering her body.

His eyes locked onto hers and she felt an unfamiliar responsiveness stirring within her. Her orgasm was upon her but a searing heat encased her heart and tears came to her eyes without warning. She let her head roll back as she let it consume her, but Ulfric had different plans. He brought himself up on a knee and pulled his mouth away from her, letting his fingers continue to pleasure her. His free hand grabbed her by her hair and brought her face to his.

Ophelia let him manhandle her, as her orgasm was all encompassing and incapacitating. He forced her to look at him and it made the tears that had formed in her eyes fall as his name escaped her lips. He pressed his forehead against hers and she rode her orgasm out on his now soaked hand. Ophelia, out of breath and still quivering from the sheer force of what just happened, reveled in her gratification. She needed that.

Ulfric lay next to her and embraced her sweat covered body adoringly. She tucked her head underneath his chin and buried her face in his tunic, feeling the odd feeling ebb away as he stroked her back.

"I take it you enjoyed that?" His voice was huskier than usual and is caused another shiver the rack her body. She nodded in response, grabbing onto him tightly. His laughter was the only response.

It wasn't until a few moments later that she was painfully aware of his hard member pressing against her hip. Fire stirred in her belly and she ground her hip against it. He grunted and grabbed her hips to still her from arousing him further.

Ophelia pulled herself from his embrace and kissed him before motioning for him to move towards her, "Come to the edge of the bed."

Hesitantly, he followed and let his feet touch the floor. She lowered herself onto the floor carefully and took position on her knees in front of him, her hands moving over the bulge in his pants. The nude woman untied the crotch of his leggings and let his cock spring free.

She gripped it with her hand and guided it into her mouth. He breathed heavily as she sucked on his length, humming appreciatively at his sizable girth. His cock hardened even more in her mouth and when she released it, it stood proud and swollen, precum forming at the very tip.

Her gaze found his and she smiled, letting her tongue peek out to lick the precum off of him. He gripped the furs underneath him and tried to choke back a moan that escaped him.

"I'm not going to last long," He warned in the heat of the moment with no shame.

She fondled him with both of her hands and smiled, taking the head of his penis into her mouth and sucking hard. The suction of her hot mouth coupled with the movement of her hands made the man buck his hips. Ulfric held her gaze and began thrusting into her mouth. She removed one of her hands from his shaft and brought them down to cup his balls. He groaned noisily and his face contorted abruptly.

Ophelia wasn't expecting his hot cum to fill her mouth then but when it did, she took him in as far as he would go and let it shoot down her throat. She hummed around him he came hard in her mouth, a harsh groan escaping his mouth.

Breathless, he withdrew from her mouth and nearly fell back onto the bed out of exhaustion. Ophelia wiped whatever spit and cum that was left from her chin and mouth, and forced herself up onto the bed. He grabbed her and pulled her next to her on the bed, pulling the covers over them both.

They lay together for quite some time – her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. The fire hissed as it began to die out but they ignored it, opting for skin on skin contact to keep them warm. Ophelia was lost in thought as she idly ran a hand up and down Ulfric's muscular stomach. Her mind wandered from topic to topic – her throbbing wounds, the Elder Scroll, the weird sensation she experienced, the pleasant smell Ulfric always carried.

"I missed you." His confession was sincere and touched her in a way that she couldn't pin point.

"I can tell." She winked lightheartedly, drawing a grin from him. She observed him as he closed his eyes and drifted off into reverie. They rested together in content silence, holding onto each other as if it as their last possible chance to touch each other again. Ophelia loved the affection he showed her and reveled wordlessly in it.

He fell in and out of sleep and she watched him, adoring how vulnerable he looked in his position. She nuzzled into him and fell asleep in his arms. She woke up to hefty snoring some time later and she gently shook him awake.

"Ulfric?"

"Hm?" His eyes were still closed and his eyebrow furrowed.

"Wake up."

He stirred and with time they both woke fully and sipped on mead in comfortable stillness.

Opehlia attempted conversation, "You told me before that you went to train with the Greybeards… but you never really told me about it."

Ulfric pulled her closer to his chest and answered, "They chose me when I was a lad. I left Windhelm to live in High Hrothgar until the Great War started. I left to fight and never returned."

"What was your training like?"

He chuckled, "Long and boring. That place is not exactly an ideal location for a growing boy."

"Pft, I would have gone insane if I was a child stuck in that place. It's too quiet."

"Aye. But you already know most of my life story," he lamented and she tried to ignore the pang of guilt that struck within her, "Yet, I know next to nothing about you."

"I – I… well… What do you wish to know?"

"Start from the beginning? You can spare me the grisly details if you wish, although I don't mind hearing them."

Ophelia was never one to share her story. It wasn't as if it she cared a great deal that she had never told anyone, it's just that the opportunity never presented itself. She was the Dragonborn, so people often didn't give a damn about the person beyond the title. She pulled herself from his arms and turned to face him in the bed, wincing as the wound on her side throbbed persistently.

"There's not much to tell. I was born in Windhelm, although I didn't live there for long. My father was a legionnaire and my mother a shield maiden turned housewife."

Ulfric wore a look of surprise, "You were born in Windhelm?"

"Born Sun's Height, 4th Era 168 in Hjerim – the quaint little home on Valunstrad." She smiled at the coincidence and stretched, "I don't remember anything about living there though. My father represented the Legion in your father's court."

"What was your father's name?"

"Ingvar Highlander."

"Incredible," He shook his head and sat up in the bed, his back resting against the head board, "I thought he had a son."

"Leiv. My older brother. I hated him." Ophelia giggled at the memories of her older brother.

"Is he still in Skyrim?"

"Who – my father or my brother?"

"Both."

"My father perished in the Great War… Leiv is still out there somewhere. I came across him in Markarth not six months ago. Nearly got into a bar fight with him."

"Your father was a great man. I remember him when I was a boy."

"That's what I've heard." She smiled pleasantly, but it wasn't honest. She didn't have the honor of knowing her father – the man whom nearly everyone treasured.

"Go on. I'm sorry for interrupting you."

"It's fine… We left Windhelm when I was just an infant and my father was stationed in the Imperial City. Mother and I stayed with him for a while but ultimately wound up living in Chorrol. The Imperial City was besieged and Chorrol was sacked. My mother left Leiv and I with the refugee Orphanage in Weynon Priory and ran off to participate in the defense effort. I never saw either of them again."

Ophelia didn't realize how sad her tone had become and she cleared her throat. Ulfric watched her with compassion, his hand idly caressing the back of her neck. With a sympathetic gaze, he opened his mouth to say something she had heard many times whenever her mother and fathers fates were mentioned.

She lifted a small finger to his lips and whispered, "Don't bother with condolences. They lived by the sword and would have died by it one way or another."

Ulfric nodded his head and she resumed, "Leiv ran away from the orphanage. I stayed until the end of the war and then was adopted by an old Khajiit priestess named Sariba. I travelled with her until she passed away – I was about sixteen. From then on out I've just been wandering with no real purpose… Until I came back here, of course."

Amused, her lover stretched his arms out behind his head, "Skyrim is your destiny, after all."

"Yes she is…" She mumbled, admiring his finely sculpted arms. _Thank the Nine for Nord me. _

Ulfric leaned down to gently place a kiss on her lips. She returned it happily and joined him in his upright position.

"When are you to leave?" Ophelia was anxious to ask the question but figured it was about time to speak about his imminent departure.

"I promised Galmar I would come back tonight. I should leave soon."

"Let me come with you bath to Windhelm. I can handle myself. I don't want you to go alone." Her pleads were met with a stern expression from him.

"You will do no such thing! You can barely walk."

"I'm coming. Or I'll follow you. You're not going alone." She stated and began eating to bread and meat on the forgotten plate. She needed to eat and replenish her strength.

"Ugh." Ulfric complained and readjusted his underclothing, preparing to get up and put on his armor, "don't be difficult, Ophelia."

"I'm not being _difficult_!" She placed her feet flat on the floor and finally stood. Her back and thighs ached from their lack of mobility in the past few days. She grunted at the discomfort and searched her knapsack by her bed, trying to find her armor.

"I'm serious. You're staying here until you heal properly."

"Ulfric," she mocked his tone in a hushed voice while stumbling into her clothing and armor. "I need to ensure your safety and the longer I stay here; the more I endanger myself and everyone here. I do have an Elder Scroll, after all." He followed her pointed finger to the large wrapped cylindrical object just under the bed.

He pulled on his armor on his body and hung his scabbard and sword from his belt. She watched him as she hastily buckled her leather armor and chewed on the bread she tried to down as quickly as possible. He conceded with a groan as she hobbled in front of him, her knapsack already tied tightly to her back, the Elder Scroll secured onto her back and her bow hanging from her arm.

"I'm ready." Ophelia smiled cheekily and placed her hands on her hips.

"Very well then, come." He sighed, totally defeated and opened the door to the fort.

As they moved through the fort, they looked for signs of people. It wasn't until they reached the door that they spotted Erandur praying. He raised his head from his pious moment and smiled brightly at the two. He got up and walked to them quickly, embracing Ophelia tightly.

"Thank you, friend. Thank you so much."

"I owe you my life. This is nothing. If you ever need help again, do not hesitate to ask. Be safe." He muttered back, finally letting her go with a light kiss to her cheek.

Ophelia noticed how Ulfric straightened his back and watched the interaction like a hawk. Erandur moved to him and offered him his hand.

Ulfric took it, "Thank you for all of this."

"It is my pleasure. Mara's blessings upon you both." Erandur retrieved a bag from next to the nearby fire and held it to them, "Provisions, just in case."

"Bless you, Erandur." Ophelia wished upon him once more and bowed her way out of the door, Ulfric following closely behind.

The frigid air was refreshing to her and it took her breath away. The sky was red and she gauged that it was late afternoon. He moved next to her and began walking down the crest of the snowy hill. She followed without a word.

"I brought my horse. He's large enough for us to share." He stated, pointing to the white steed that patiently waited at the stable at the base of the hill.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow, "Wouldn't that be conspicuous to ride into Windhelm on a horse together?"

"I don't care. People can say what they want to say. So long as you don't kiss me I don't think it will be a problem."

"I can't guarantee anything."

"Sure." He murmured, smirking back at her.

Once at the horse, she secured their belongings to the side of the steed's saddle, sans their weapons and tried to mount him. She slipped of but Ulfric was there to grab her, his hand roughly hitting the wound on her side. She hissed through her teeth and pushed his hand away gently.

"Apologies… Here, let me." He moved her aside and mounted first. He extended his hands down to grab her hands. The plan successfully worked and she sat snugly in the saddle with him.

* * *

They took off, finally. The trip was smooth and they rode with ease as to avoid hurting her. They didn't truly speak for the duration of the trip, but they didn't need to. Everything that needed to be said already had been. Once the sun began to set, they began to snack on the food Erandur had packed for them, but rode on.

The sun was long gone under the horizon when they reached their destination – Windhelm stable. He dismounted and assisted her down. Once she was on the ground, he untied her belongings and his. She watched him intensely and she felt her womb ache as she watched him move. They didn't get to make love, but she supposed that their reunion was enough to tie her over until their next.

He turned to her and watched her face carefully, "Do you wish to stay with me until you heal fully?" He spoke delicately and painfully affectionate. Ophelia's heart nearly beat out of her chest. She was tempted to take him up on his offer, but she couldn't bring herself to.

"I'm going stay in Candlehearth tonight. It would be best if I wasn't seen with you. I'll be gone in the morning." Ophelia deflected her sadness with humor, "Can't be seen sneaking into the Palace, after all. That would simply be too much of a scandal for a respectable young lady such as I."

Ulfric offered her one last smile and raised his hand to her cheek, bringing her in for a passionate kiss. Their teeth clanked uncomfortably but that didn't stop him from delving his tongue deeper into her mouth. Letting out a breathy groan, she grabbed the front of his armor until her knuckles turned white – this was nearly too much to handle.

She pulled herself away from him when the stable boy shuffled around the entryway, turning a blind eye to the couple he didn't recognize. Ulfric lowered his covered head but kept eye contact with her.

"I'll see you soon. I swear." Ophelia returned to her usual demeanor and winked at him playfully, walking past him and hastily made her way down the bridge to the entryway of the city. The covered Elder Scroll bounced unnervingly on her back with every step and made her more aware of how his gaze on her. She offered him one last glance as she slipped into the city.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello all! Thank you so so much for all of the reviews and favorites/follows. It means a ton to me. 3

Anyways, again, I'm sorry this took awhile to push out. I kinda sorta deviated a shit ton from my original plan and now I'm planning on this story being ~10 parts. So yeah. It's going to be longer than expected. But I have confidence that it will turn out well.

Because of real life stuff that sucks, I might only be able to upload once a week - maybe twice if I'm lucky but I guess we'll just see. Also, I know there are probably some grammatical or continuity errors, but I'll fix them, I promise. 3

So yeah, I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: cursing, talk of wounds

* * *

"Rumor has it that a stable boy caught you kissing a woman last week."

Galmar had snuck up on Ulfric as he prepared to take a stroll around the city with him. For the first time in what felt like an age, Ulfric didn't feel fear or anxiousness when faced with an inquiry about his personal life.

"Far be it from me to call my townsfolk liars."

"Ha!" Galmar chuckled and watched the other.

Wordlessly, Ulfric strolled out of the main door of the Palace, his friend following close behind him. The two moved side by side in silence, occasionally nodding in response to the citizens that acknowledged them.

"I have a question."

"About?" The Jarl shot a weary glance at his companion.

"As to when you were planning on telling us that you were betrothed to Highlander's daughter." His tone teased but his words were serious.

"Explain to me how you came to this conclusion and I will give you your answer."

"Jorleif actually came to the conclusion. You admitted you were engaged, that one woman came in asking for a woman named Ophelia, Ingvar's daughter is named Ophelia… It all makes sense."

Ulfric didn't bother to hide his fascinated grin, "Impressive. It's true. I was planning on tell you soon but she and I agreed to keep things discreet."

"Ah… I haven't seen that girl since she was a newborn." Galmar muttered, shaking his head slightly. He and Ulfric slowed their pace down considerably.

The Jarl knew that no one recognized Ophelia as an adult and since they didn't know her by anything other than the Dragonborn or Stormblade, her true identity remained a mystery.

"Is she good looking?"

"Oh yes, she's very beautiful – strong too. She's going to be an excellent wife."

Galmar placed a firm hand on Ulfric's shoulder and squeezed, "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you, Galmar."

"When do I get to meet her?"

Ulfric, who had just sent a letter to Whiterun to check up on Ophelia, wondered when she would stop by next and if she would even be okay with revealing their relationship to Galmar, "Soon."

"Good to hear it!"

The two rounded onto Volunstrand. The quiet avenue provided the two with the privacy they wanted.

"So how did you get in touch with her? Last I heard anything about that family was right after her parents died."

"She was adopted after her parents fell. Her caretaker passed and she came back to Skyrim. I happened upon her by chance and we took it from there." Ulfric kept as many incriminating details out as possible, but remained honest with his friend.

Galmar nodded and moved onto a different topic, "I heard Thalmor have been seen wandering around the Whiterun Plane. Yrsarald took some of his boys to investigate."

"We will continue to see them – they will always slip through our net. Not until I have the numbers and manpower to expand will they disappear." Ulfric had partaken in this discussion many times with Galmar. The Thalmor would never truly leave until he had his men stationed at every settlement – major or minor.

"Or we could just deport all of the High Elves – make them stop smuggling them in." Galmar muttered with an attitude.

"While I understand your skepticism of the Mer, Galmar, you know better than to say something like that. The High Elves that do enter our borders are usually refugees themselves – dissidents. That would do nothing but give folks more incentive to kill us." Ulfric grimaced by the last sentence.

Galmar shrugged and the two slipped into a comfortable silence as they looped back around the Candlehearth, making their way back up to the castle.

"Is the briefing tomorrow?" Galmar asked suddenly, as if he had forgotten to ask earlier.

Ulfric himself had forgotten that for the next two days he was hosting all of his Stormcloak commanders to be briefed on the current state of all the holds and to discuss how he planned to move forward with the Stormcloak occupation.

"I believe so." Ulfric answered as they entered the cozy main hall of the Palace. He unpinned his cloak and his guard took it for him. As he shook the snow from his hair, he heard someone call for him.

"Jarl Ulfric," Jorleif made his way hastily towards them from the left side of the main hall and motioned towards the large table in the middle of the room, at the end of which sat Ophelia and another man, "You have visitors."

Ophelia's appearance took his breath away. She was dressed in a blue gown with gold and silver embroidery decorating the bust. Her hair fell down on her shoulders and with small braids delicately hanging from her temples, not dissimilar from his.

She and the man he now recognized as Frorkmar laughed merrily while drinking mead, blissfully unaware of the Jarls presence. Ulfric felt his chest burn with jealousy as he watched the two interact. She moved her arms in an animated manner and beamed at the man, who in turn laughed and leaned in with intrigue.

The laughter faded as she noticed his entrance. She peered at him from over her shoulder, her bright smile fading into a smug smirk. This woman was still an anomaly to him. He often found himself torn between fist fighting her or making love to her. Then there was the somewhat rare occasion of her very face making him seize up and feel like a love struck boy again.

"Stormblade!" Galmar cried out from behind the Jarl, his loud voice snapping Ulfric out of the daydream the young woman had him in.

Ophelia stood from the bench to greet them, "My Jarl – Commander, it is a pleasure to see you both."

Ulfric finally found it upon himself to walk forward to his throne, feigning disinterest and not even offering her a glance until he was fully seated. He swore she looked a tad bit hurt by his façade but replaced it with delight as Galmar fell to a knee playfully and kissed her hand. Ulfric rolled his eyes at his colleague's actions.

Frorkmar, who had been quiet and standing at attention out of respect, was greeted by Galmar with a brotherly hug and a pat on the back. He let them exchange pleasantries while his eyes locked onto Ophelia.

The way the low cut bodice of the dress revealed her sun kissed skin and clung to the curve of her waist and her wide hips made him shift anxiously. He wanted nothing more than to get her into his bed chambers and rip the ornate dress off of her body.

"Jarl Ulfric," Ophelia's melodic voice broke his concentration on her body.

"Stormblade?" He replied, shifting in his chair to take his mind off of his previous thought.

The woman stood at the base of his throne, her hands clasped together politely in front of her, "I wish to buy a home in your city. If I am permitted to do so, of course."

Ulfric cleared his throat and struggled to remain professional with her, "You have served my cause well and I am indebted to you. Of course you may. Jorleif, what estates are for sale right now?"

"Hjerim is the only one," Jorleif replied and they both looked towards the woman expectantly.

"I am familiar with the home. I will take it." The smile never left her face.

"If you could be back here tomorrow, I can get all the paperwork that is needed and we can discuss price." Jorleif offered politely.

"That would be excellent." She replied appropriately before locking eyes with Ulfric. He prayed that Jorleif wouldn't pay too much attention to the way her green eyes narrowed suggestively and her tongue darted across her lower lip. He had never been this immersed in lust before in his life.

Ulfric had been with many women and wasn't exactly ignorant of the fact that women and men alike chased after him for a multitude of reasons. After his imprisonment, sexual indulgence was something hard to come by as he was far too distracted and demented to keep a lover for very long. With age he found that small trysts with no further arrangements seemed to fit him well – but he always longed for the uniformity and comfort of having a long term lover.

When the civil war began, he abandoned the endeavor all together, figuring he would wind up dead by the end of it. Ophelia woke a new desire in him that frightened but exhilarated him.

"I wish to speak with you about another matter," She spoke up, bringing him back from his thoughts, "a far more serious matter."

"Yes?" Ulfric beckoned her to continue.

"I fought Alduin." The words echoed off the walls of the main hall and the whole room stilled, "He fled mid fight. I'm not too sure as to where he went but I have a plan to figure it out. I need your permission to proceed."

A plethora of emotions, ranging from anger to awe, hit Ulfric. Nevertheless he presented unresponsiveness, "go on."

"A long time ago, Dragonsreach was used to trap an actual dragon. The trap is said to still be functional. I want use it."

"To trap Alduin? He will break the trap with ease." Jorleif countered.

"Not Alduin. I want to trap his servant." Ophelia defended quickly, her eyes flickering between Jorleif and Ulfric.

"You really think this will work?" Galmar hesitated from behind her.

She turned her head to the side but kept her eyes upon Ulfric, "I know it will."

"How do you even know the beast will talk?" Jorleif asked again.

She looked to the other man and smirked, "I have my ways. If he doesn't talk, I'll kill him. Simple as that."

Everybody watched Ulfric now, clearly waiting for his decision. He mulled over it in his head. It would be unpopular and viewed as unwise by most folk, but then again almost everything he did drew that kind of reaction. He never doubted her capability but her methods were unorthodox at times and it troubled him.

"If you can guarantee that the dragon will do no harm, I will permit it." Ulfric offered.

"I swear it."

Ulfric attempted to gauge her sincerity but couldn't bring himself to look at her any further in fear of breaking his front in public.

With a sigh he conceded, "If this is to happen, I demand to be there and have Stormcloak soldiers on stand-by. This is risky – even for you." He commanded and she nodded obediently, "When are you planning to go through with this endeavor?"

"Whenever you permit it."

Ulfric was bombarded by different answeres at once and couldn't reasonably think of one to her indirect question. He exhaled heavily and responded, "We will discuss it tomorrow when you come to secure the deed to Hjerim."

"Thank you, Ulfric."

He nodded his head once at her and she finally left her spot from in front of him. Ophelia returned to the table. She grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder.

Ulfric, out of alarm for some reason or another, raised his voice, "Where are you running off to, Stormblade?"

Mischief flashed across her face, "I'm going to Candlehearth hall for the evening."

"Dressed like that? You're trying to find a husband, aren't you?" Frorkmar lewdly suggested, giving her a once over. Ulfric's eyes darted to the man, who was too distracted by Ophelia to notice the way the Jarl glowered at him. Ulfric was an admitted traditionalist. His fists clenched at the thought of her with another man.

"I'm in Windhelm – this is a Nord woman's dream." She giggled impishly and held Frorkmar's gaze.

Ulfric scowled fully at her, not caring at who saw. He wasn't one to be jealous but this was pushing it. She was playing a game with him and he knew it. Whether it was a matter of keeping face in front of people or a sad attempt to rouse him was irrelevant – it pissed him off. He watched her leave with a feeling akin to grief.

He had opened himself like a book, came to visit her when she was ill, let her tell him what to do in bed, promising him that she wasn't playing games. Yet here she was, flirting with another man right in front of him.

"I say we join her tonight, eh Ulfric?" Galmar called from the table once she left.

"We'll see." He grunted angrily.

* * *

That evening at the far end of Candlehearth Hall, Ophelia lay on the bed she rented out in nothing more than a tunic and her smalls. The door was locked, the hearth roaring with a fire. A plate of grilled leaks sat on the bed with her as she read a book on Nord lore; two things that she regularly turned to when she was troubled.

Things hadn't been easy since she returned to Whiterun. Lydia, while drunk, slapped Ophelia for making her worry so badly. Ophelia cried out of emotional and physical exhaustion and Lydia accused Ophelia of fake crying before trying to fight her. Vilkas was called into the Bannered Mare to break up the cat fight that broke out between the two. Lydia insulted Ophelia and said she never wanted to see her again. Ophelia sobbed again. It was an ugly sight.

The fight with Alduin didn't exactly lift her spirits. She wasn't expect him to just… show up. There was no way she would have been prepared for it and for several moments, she was convinced she was actually dying. With curses abound and fortunate stroke of luck, Alduin fled. It was simultaneously relieving and infuriating.

To cheer herself up, Ophelia bought several dresses from the Khajiit caravan that was outside of Whiterun. Contrary to popular belief, she actually enjoyed dressing up. A lot. Sariba, her second mother, regularly stitched her dresses by hand, the needlework complex and stunning. When she wore them she felt like a princess – and Sariba would confirm that she was. The memory alone was enough to make her feel happy.

She bought the blue one with Ulfric in mind. It fit her like a glove and the low cut bodice was something she figured he would like. However, she was sorely wrong and became offended his lack of response. She understood his hesitation to acknowledge their relationship but he didn't even so much as look at her. Figuring she did something wrong, she made herself appear boisterous as ever and left the palace as quickly as she could.

The thoughts pestered her as she stuffed her face with leeks. The thirst she had for his attention had gone too far and while she humored the thought of simply not caring, she couldn't help herself. She felt like a child all over again. Admittedly, it was a fault of hers.

Was it irrational and immature? Yes.

Did she care? No.

Cheers came from above her room and she eyed the ceiling out of annoyance. A Stormcloak shanty followed and people clapped and sang along. She rolled her eyes. A Stormcloak commander probably showed up.

The deeply rooted passion for political affiliations and factions in Skyrim annoyed her greatly. She wasn't one to take up arms and cheer on any particular group – she was the person who broke off from the team, the outcast that didn't particularly belong.

Ophelia knew very well that she was self-serving above everything else – so that's why she avoided groups when she could. She could get what she wanted without anyone standing in her way physical or ethically. Everyone won.

Exhaling, Ophelia decided it would be in the best interest of her sanity to at least try to talk to someone that evening. She closed her book and rooted around in the nearby dresser for something sensible to wear. She found a barmaid's dress and figured it would suffice in lieu of her blue one – which was safely tucked away in the safe.

The dress, although recently cleaned, was clearly old. It fit well, she supposed, although she did look a bit like a common whore. Ophelia shrugged at the mirror she observed herself in and pulled on her boots and let her hair down her back.

As she walked through the absurdly crowded tavern, she garnered quite a few looks from the patrons. Whether they were curious or lecherous went unknown. Most of the Stormcloak lads and lasses didn't recognize her, but Ophelia appreciated it. She grabbed the tankard of beer that was offered to her by the owner and made her way upstairs, to where the commotion raged.

The upstairs of the tavern was nearly impossible to traverse. As she politely wedged her way in between people, she felt hands began to wander a little too far and her head snapped back. But whoever had the nerve to do it was gone. Typical Nords, she whined about her people inwardly and rolled her eyes.

"Stormblade!" The title was called from behind her. She turned again to see who was beckoning her and her eyes found Ralof, the blonde Nord who helped her escape Helgen. She waved politely at him, making her way through the crowd to him.

"Ralof!" She hailed and opened her arms to him once she got close enough.

He returned it warmly, "how goes it? I haven't seen you since we took Solitude!" His smile was contagious.

"I'm doing well. Keeping busy. How about you?"

"Well, I've been stuck on post here since my return from Solitude but rumor has it that Galmar is sending my unit to Markarth." He spoke proudly.

He was a lovable man – honorable and seasoned with a touch of naivety. While she enjoyed his company and considered going after him romantically at one point, she couldn't bring herself to do it. As everyone close to her enjoyed pointing out – her romantic life was nothing more than a sordid, convoluted affair. He was too good of a man for her to potentially ruin – he was deserving of more than that.

"This is an exciting time for you – Talos be with you in your travels." Her happiness for him was genuine and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"That's far too formal for you," he began loudly, "remember when we were barging into the Imperial camp in the Reach and you told them to – "

Ophelia laughed but did her best to block out the words that he was relaying. Certainly, she wasn't a saint or a predominantly even-tempered person on the battlefield. She taunted, prodded and provoked as much as she could and with her particularly nasty grudge against the Imperials, it brought out the worst in her.

Other men at the table in front of her overheard and hooted rowdily at the story Ralof told about her. It was embarrassing but she tried her best to laugh it off. She was increasing aware of Ralof's arm draped around her shoulders as the next few minutes progressed. She sipped on her beer as Ralof talked to the other folk about the deeds Ophelia had done with great enthusiasm.

The people below them cheered so loud that the floor began to shake. Everyone looked down simultaneously and Ralof shouted, "Someone must be getting their ass kicked."

Everyone nearby, including Ophelia, laughed at the insinuation and continued to stand around, talking about war stories. Ophelia hung around but was only half present. She slipped out from under Ralof's arm and made herself comfortable in a nearby seat.

She looked down into her tankard and saw it was already almost empty. She finished it swiftly and took an unopened bottle of mead that was abandoned on a nearby table and began to drink it. Suddenly, from the far side of the room, another bout of cheering erupted. All heads turned took look.

It was Ulfric and Galmar.

She drank her mead and turned around to face her company for the evening. They all stood to cheer as well, including Ralof. She stood and slowly moved next to her blonde friend. She raised her drink and let out a small yell of praise before bringing it to her mouth and chugging it.

Ulfric smiled to the people around the room, clearly enjoying the attention he received. Galmar, who had just noticed Ophelia, pointed to her and tapped Ulfric's shoulder to get his attention. The Jarl looked to her and their eyes locked intensely.

"Oi, I think their coming over here." Ralof laughed merrily and looked back to his friends at the table, "look alive, guys."

As the two older men made their way towards the other side of the room, Ophelia held her ground obstinately. When they neared, Ulfric's eyes scanned over her body and he remained emotionless. She fought the urge to punch him.

This was killing her ego slowly but surely.

"Good evening, Stormblade." He spoke tightly before turning to greet Ralof.

She bit the inside of her cheek and continued drinking her mead, choosing to ignore him as well. Galmar, who was clearly trying to not let his eyes wander, offered her a pat on the back and friendly words as a greeting.

Bitterly, she watched as he happily conversed and joked with his folk and she felt lonely. She hadn't many friends in Skyrim. If Lydia were here, it would make things easier, but now she was alone in a tavern full of people who didn't care to even know her past her title and a standoffish fiancé.

Feeling thoroughly disenchanted and suddenly depressed about the current state of affairs she took off into the crowd of people, making a bee line straight for the stairs. She wanted to be alone, now. Completely alone.

She made it to her room without rousing attention, locked the door and flopped on her bed lazily. The bed creaked unpleasantly as she drifted off into thought.

Her lack of friendships in her life clearly had some sort of adverse effect on her. She was always isolated – whether by force or choice, and thus never understood how to make relationships work. In her defense, she never really had an example to go by. Her parents met a tragic end together, her brother took off into the night, Sariba never spoke of having a family and by the time she died, not a single soul in all of Tamriel wanted to put up with her. Except Ulfric.

Someone knocked at the door loudly and she groaned.

"This room is occupied."

There was no voice on the other side but instead another harsh knock.

"I said occupied!"

The knock returned before she even finished her sentence.

Ophelia forced herself up to the door and unlocked it, "I said occupied. Do you not understand me?"

As she unlocked it, the door was pushed open roughly and knocked her back. As she struggled to stand, the door was already closed and standing in front of it with his hands on his hips was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak.

She groaned and rolled her eyes, "can't you take a hint?"

"There was a hint?" He leered as he walked past her, taking in the small room.

"I want to be left alone." There was a war raging inside of her. She wanted to push him out of her room and to never speak to him again but she also wanted to sleep with him and never leave his side. She mulled over her confusing as she looked to the ground.

"Which is why you showed up in that dress today? Because you wanted to be… _left alone_?" His voice was tinged with arrogance as he mocked her.

"I didn't wear the dress for you. Don't flatter yourself." She lied and crossed her arms defensively.

"Of course you didn't." He took a seat on the bed with a smug look, "I'm not sure if anyone has ever told you this but when people agree to marry, it's often looked down upon to take up flirting and flaunting yourself to others. Not to say some don't – but they shouldn't. Especially in the presence of the one they're marrying."

"Come again?" Her eyes narrowed angrily and she turned to face him fully.

"You were flirting with Frorkmar. Wasn't too sure if you were actually aware of it but given you're history with these things, I'm assuming you knew all and well what you were doing." He wasn't angry – his eyes shone out of pity, his tone didn't bite. He was afraid.

This disturbed her deeply and her arms dropped, "I wasn't… I wasn't trying to flirt with anyone. I wore the dress because I thought it was nice-looking. I'm very sorry."

Taken back, he stood to meet her, "It's alright."

She felt terribly guilty and she backed away from him slightly, not wanting his touch. Did she flirt with Frorkmar? She didn't even remember the conversation she had with him. She wanted to appear normal but her mind was almost always occupied by Ulfric. Her green eyes met his blue ones and she swallowed, fighting the tears that prickled her eyes.

It wasn't just Ulfric that was upsetting her – he didn't even do anything wrong. This was by far the most endearing she had ever seen him. He was gentle in pointing out her folly and treated her with great respect although she did technically wrong him.

Lydia weighed on her mind heavily. The other Nord had stuck by her through a lot and was in many ways a sister to her. They had quarreled before but this was by far the worst. She had abandoned Ophelia. This wasn't the first time it had ever happened to the Dragonborn but it never stung this bad.

She held the weight of Tamriel on her shoulders and yet her personal issues were the ones driving her to the edge of her sanity. Consumed by her thoughts, she didn't even realize he embraced her. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"Whoever you did wear the dress for is one lucky man, though. I envy him."

A goofy smile and breathy laugh escaped her and she swiftly bit her lip to stifle it.

"Ophelia." Ulfric spoke quietly from above her and ran his hand across her bare shoulder, "You took my breath away in the Palace. You are truly beautiful."

The compliment made her feel warm all over and she pulled away to look at him, "thank you."

Ulfric let his eyes wander down to her cleavage. He smirked, "How about we go back to the Palace."

Ophelia quirked an eyebrow, "what, does this room not suit your needs?"

He took a look around the room, "not particularly. I'd prefer fucking you in my own bed."

"You're such a romantic." She teased and pulled away from him, "I suppose we could go to the Palace but what will your excuse be for sneaking me into your room? Should I dress like a whore and you could claim you picked me up off the street or… Oh! You should claim I'm your new maid. No one would question it!"

"Don't be stupid. I'm going to my chambers." He pulled away from her and brought her hands up to his lips, where he laid two light kisses, "You are going to climb in through the window."

Ophelia's smile dropped and she groaned, pulling her hands away from his face. He let out a hearty laugh and shrugged, "if you don't like it then you can spend the night alone."

She sighed dramatically, fighting off a laugh, "Fine."

"Fantastic." He walked towards the door and grabbed the handle, "I'm going to say my goodbyes to my men and I expect to see you on my bed when I return to the Palace, am I understood?"

"Crystal clear." She smirked as he left her room swiftly. It was amazing how he could make her feel better with a bit of banter. She took off her dress and slipped on a tunic and pants. As she was about to leave her gaze reached the safe where the blue dress was. With a stroke of inspiration, she opened up the safe and retrieved the dress. She placed it carefully in her bag and left the room, making her way out into the chill of Windhelm.

* * *

Ophelia scaled the side of the building as she had done before. It was pretty easy to find where Ulfric's room was but it was frigid and wet – an inhospitable and unwelcome combination. Her fingers went numb by the time she reached the window and she found it nearly impossible to bring her lockpick up to the window.

After several agonizing seconds of trying to unlock the window it clicked and she pushed it open, cringing when it made a rather loud hinging noise. She swung her left leg in and ducked so that she could slide in the rest of the way. While normally there was a small table underneath the window, her foot didn't meet it and she slipped to the floor with a thud.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and she panted for a few moments, struggling to pick herself up. Eventually, she stood, her eyes darting around the room and landing on the door. The bedroom was dark due to the dying fire and she stilled perfectly to listen for any movement.

Admittedly, she wasn't exactly a seasoned sneak thief but her long stint with the Thieves guild had forced her to garner some competence in the area to know that at this moment, she wasn't alone in the room. She felt eyes on her from every direction and she slowly reached for the tiny scabbard that was strapped to her thigh.

It wasn't Ulfric. He couldn't sneak up on her like this. In her peripheral an unnatural bending of the light of the dimming fireplace alerted her. Her head shot to it and she crouched. Whoever it was, they were out of her direct line of sight – and she was out of theirs. With one foot silently in front of the other, she neared the back headboard of Ulfric's bed and ultimately, the fire. She held her breath, listening for anything she could.

All too familiar with alchemy, she recognized the distinct odor of a very strong invisibility potion. It was hideously obvious. She heard footsteps creaking behind her. She flattened her back against the side of the bed and quietly drew her dagger.

If they were to round the particular corner she was near, she could very well have the upper hand on them. If not – then. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second; thinking of how much she hated the unknown of sneak-fighting. She opened them when other footsteps reached her ears – very loud apparent ones, from right in front of her. There were multiple people in here.

She barely had time to react as a very sharp blade came barreling down in front of her. Instinctively, her forearm rose defensively and she knocked the assailants arm back, grabbing its wrist and twisting it. The blade fell to the floor loudly and she kicked out her leg to knock back the invisible form. It worked and with a grunt, it fell back onto the floor. With the force of the fall, the invisibility potion wore off ever so slightly, the invisible form revealing itself as a tall man with his features covered strategically.

Without thinking twice, she grabbed the fallen blade and lunged at the fallen man, with her dagger in her left hand and the blade securely gripped in her right. She didn't make it far. As the assailant knocked her back with a very strong shock spell and she convulsed, the blades falling out of her hands and to the floor. She gasped for air, trying as hard as she could to break the contact with the lightning that shot out of his hand and straight into her chest. It didn't hurt too much, but it paralyzed her in her stance, forcing any breath out of her and making it nearly impossible the draw in a new one.

It stopped when a large hand wrapped around her neck from behind and forcefully dragged her back onto the bed. She thrashed as hard as she could, bringing her hands up to claw at the face of the one who ambushed her but the thick mask and cowl made it impossible. She twisted and pulled herself out of the grasp, swiftly rolling off the far end of the bed.

So there were two so far, she thought bitterly as she struggled to quietly catch her breath. This wasn't how she envisioned the rest of her evening.

She procured an ice spike in her left hand and lightning in her right and took off around the opposite side of the bed. The one that dragged her onto the bed had moved to the other side of the bed to help his friend up. She watched them both before shooting an ice spike at the one standing. He fell forward with a grunt and she vaulted over the bed and searched in the near darkness for her blade.

The other one prime another volt of lighting while he stood and she knocked him back with an ice spike too, before returning to her search for her blade. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and liquid fire coursed through her veins. Her hand found the hilt of the blade and she jumped at the opportunity to kill the first one. Her arm hooked around his neck as she tried to bring the blade down but an odd force picked her up and threw her across the room. She fell near the door, the pain of the fall making it hard to get up. She forced herself to move and find the blade which was now lost again.

Peering up from the floor she saw the two men advancing on her and she inhaled deeply, her whole being seizing up and feeling engulfed in an ethereal power, she shouted, "FUS RO DA!"

Both of them flew to the other side of the room slammed into the wall. The force of the shout shook the entire Palace. She couldn't help the growl that tore from her throat as she moved towards the one that had shocked her before, her dagger poised. The other one groaned and she ignored his nearly limp body.

She pulled him up and dragged him to the wall, forcing the dagger to his neck she growled menacingly, "who sent you?"

No answer came from him as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. She shook him violently and slapped him, "who sent you? Why are you here?"

Still no answer. She frowned and let him fall the floor. He had passed out. She squatted next to him and reached into his pocket, finding a folded note. She opened it and let her eyes scan over the handwriting. It was an assassination attempt on Ulfric's life.

_The hit is to take place in two nights. Make it quick but messy. This is supposed to send a message._

_If you cannot kill him, kill whoever you can that's close to him. He is bound to have a wife or children._

_Here is your payment, split into thirds for your convenience._

_ELM_

The words made her feel sick and she looked over them again. _Thirds? __ELM? _The initials didn't rouse any memory in her. She looked over her shoulder at the other man who lay unconscious at the other side of the room.

Suddenly, the door to the hallway busted opened and guards began to filter in. Ophelia paid no mind and continued to stare; her jaw squared with determination.

"Stormblade?" She heard Jorleif's voice from behind her. She held the note out but still didn't face him.

She felt painfully anxious. There was another assassin with them. She knew it. But where was he?

"What is happening?" Ulfric's voice reached her ears but she still didn't turn. Her eyes scanned the entirety of the room, alert for anything out of the ordinary.

"There was an attempt on your life, my Jarl. Stormblade stopped it." Jorleif answered for her as she carefully maneuvered around the room, observing everything unobtrusively.

"There was another, but they're gone now." She muttered to no one in particular. Ulfric heard the words but they were so quiet he couldn't understand. She turned and began looking on the other side of the room, near the door.

"What?"

"There were…" A misplaced shadow moved right behind Ulfric and her voice stopped. She diverted her attention from it immediately, afraid of alerting whoever it was.

Ulfric wore an expression of concern and his eyes locked with hers. She tried her best to convey her apprehension in her eyes but he only looked confused. She sighed heavily and her body begin to shake.

One of several possibilities could happen – none of them decent. However, she knew that the one thing she needed to do to obtain his safety was to not draw attention to the invisible figure behind him.

_If you cannot kill him, kill whoever you can that's close to him. He is bound to have a wife or children._

The line repeated in her mind and she swallowed thickly. If she could get this person to think they were together, maybe she could trick them into following her instead of him. Ophelia contrived relaxation, calmly eyeballing the surroundings again. She looped her way around the room before ending up next to Ulfric, her back turned to the unseen assassin. She leaned into him, her hand gently caressing his and her lips placing a small kiss at his ear.

"Stay here." The whisper sounded so off coming from her in this moment and she prayed Ulfric didn't take it the wrong way. His head spun quickly to face her and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He knew something was awry.

He brought his mouth to her ear and took the hand that caressed his, "what's wrong?"

They watched each other for a moment before she pulled away, backing up through the door. She prayed this would work.

Once she made it to the throne room, she calmed considerably, as phantom foot falls followed behind her. Now the question was, how was she to deal with whoever was behind her? She didn't know. But she would rather face whoever it was outside than inside the palace. She swiftly left the Palace and made her way through the city. The footsteps haunted the entire journey.

She stopped finally in the graveyard and turned on her heel, looking at the landscape behind her with skepticism, "reveal yourself."

She was met with stillness and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, "Reveal yourself. I might actually spare you."

"You spared the others. You were always soft." A familiar voice reached her ears.

"That's not how I see it. They'll rot in a Nord dungeon – that's not exactly what I would refer to as sparing – or soft." She kept her voice calm and collected._ It couldn't be._

"Well…" the voice was behind Ophelia now. She jumped slightly and turned, brandishing her blade.

"Quit jesting, I don't have the time for this." Ophelia tried her best to remain calm but she felt hot and irritated. She knew who this was – the memories were hard to forget – and she wanted to end this.

A laugh found her ears from her right, "don't be hasty. Let's talk about this."

An odd draft coasted by her and she turned again, finally laying her eyes on the last assassin.

"What do you want from Ulfric?"

"_I_ want my pay. The Dominion wants him dead… Or you…" Every movement the assassin made was observed methodically by Ophelia. From the way he breathed to the way the wind made what little hair was exposed on his head move – nothing slipped past her.

"You can't kill me." Ophelia scoffed self-assuredly and crossed her arms.

"I know. But you _won't_ kill me." The assassin offered back smugly and she clenched her jaw. "So this leaves us in a complicated state."

"Indeed it does." She hissed through her teeth.

The assassin's head turned at the sound of voices advancing on them and he spoke softly, "how about I disappear and we'll discuss this further at another time. Emotions are running far too high this evening."

"You'll keep your hands off of Ulfric – and everyone else here." She demanded and he looked back to her, nodding his head compliantly.

"Of course. Be in the Grey Quarter before sun rise. I'll find you."

Ophelia grunted defiantly, "Fine."

As voices drew closer, the assassin took careful steps towards her, "I'll see you."

He brushed past her and vanished around the corner. She watched the corner and let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. Resentment, dread, frustration – all of it flowed through her. Stormcloak guards made their way down the steps to the graveyard and Ophelia hailed them with a wave of her hand.

She took a step forward and an abnormal stinging sensation radiated from her side. Looking down, she noticed that blood seeped from a slice in the right side of her armor and she snarled noisily, clasping a hand over it.

"You son of a bitch!" Ophelia yelled into the dead of night, as the guards looking on in confusion. She groaned and risked one more look at the wound before reapplying her hand to it. She moved her way through the Stormcloak guards back to the Palace.

The warmth of the Palace, which normally offered her comfort, only infuriated her more. Jorleif, Galmar and Ulfric all stood in the main hall and turned their attention to her when she stormed in, teeth bare out of anger.

"Wuunferth!" She yelled and braced herself on the doorway leading to his quarters, "Wuunferth!"

She noticed the other men beginning to walk towards her and she held her arm up as a warning, "don't come close."

"What happened?" Ulfric questioned, deeply concerned as his eyes found her hand over her side.

"I said don't come close – is everyone here deaf?" She criticized harshly and began walking gingerly up the steps to Wuunferth's quarters.

Within seconds, the old man had come out of his room, wearing a frustrated expression, "what in Oblivion is the meaning of all of this."

"I'm wounded. I know it's poisoned. I need help." She gasped as the wound burned terribly. She revealed it to older man and he sighed, ushering her in and closing the door behind her.

"Let me see," Wuunferth offered as she began to unbuckle the simple armor she wore. She peeled it away, revealing the small slit that bled furiously.

Wuunferth hummed to himself, inspecting the wound closely, "It's poisoned, alright. But nothing fatal. Here…" He pulled a potion off of his desk and applied it, making a searing pain fire through her entire torso. Ophelia whined and grabbed the table behind her.

Within a few minutes of applying healing ointments and potions, Wuunferth laid a hand on her side and procured a healing spell. It warmed the area pleasantly and she looked down at the superficial wound as it gingerly began to form into a fresh scar.

"Thank you." Ophelia muttered as he finished.

"You're welcome." Wuunferth sighed, cleaning off his hands, "be careful next time."

Ophelia nodded and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. In the stairwell, Ulfric leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed and his eyes closed. They opened once he heard her walk down the steps.

When he spotted her he uncrossed his arms and blocked her way down.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"What happened?" He reached forward to place a hand on her hip. A surge of emotion surged through her as she watched his hand move over her clothed skin.

"I went to your room and I was attacked by the assassins. The third one got away, I lured him out and I fought him. He got away." She wanted to be honest with him, to shout the truth, but she couldn't. Not right now, anyways.

"I apologize. This is my fault." He cleared his throat and sounded guilty.

"Don't and it isn't. These assassins were well equipped and prepared to take you out when you were sleeping. Compared to the alternative, this is a blessing from the Divines." She brought her hand to the messy braids at his temples and brushed them back.

She smirked, "you're my damsel in distress."

He chuckled, "so far it would seem I am."

"Princess Ulfric." She teased and leaned into him, not caring about if their privacy was being invaded.

As soon as their lips met, Wuunferth's door opened and the old man saw them. Ophelia pulled away and placed a hand over her mouth – her face flushing. Ulfric cleared his throat and straightened his back.

With a raised eyebrow, Wuunferth passed by the two, "I guessed this would happen a long time ago. I won't say anything – don't worry."

"Thank you." Ulfric nodded politely and let the old man pass.

The excitement of being caught was hilarious, if nothing else. Ulfric grinned and fought off a laugh, pulling Ophelia to his body again and capturing her smiling lips in a heated kiss. It was nice to finally not be afraid of revealing their relationship.

"They're setting me up in one of the Palaces inner bedrooms for the night. No windows. Just a fireplace. Would you care to join me?" He asked once their kiss broke.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I'm going to stay in the war room to make sure no assassin's get through." She didn't need to… or want to for that matter. But she had to leave in the morning to meet the assassin. He was disappointed.

She placed a kiss on his frowning mouth. "You rest tonight. We'll all make sure you're safe." She whispered lightly and he rolled his eyes, pushing her away.

"Aw, don't pout… Come on…" she cooed in his ear and hugged him once more.

"I'll see you in the morning." He mumbled and walked away from her, towards the bed chambers. She watched as he left, a pleasant feeling blooming inside of her. Hopefully she would be able to sleep tonight.

* * *

Ophelia sat up from the bedroll she placed in the war room and looked out of the window to gauge what time it was. It took her awhile to convince Galmar to let her stay there but the old man finally left her alone when she lay down and ignored him.

She didn't sleep but it mattered not to her, as she spent a majority of the night fretting and reading. The weak glow of the sun outlined the night sky. Ophelia grabbed her bag and left the Palace without a word, making her way to the Grey Quarter. Her eyes peeked up at the great expanse above her several times as she walked down the quiet, frigid road leading to the Grey Quarter. She made it there with time to spare.

Her pace slowed considerably once she made it in the district and she sniffled, hearing the faint noise echoing off the stone walls. Impatiently, she waited for the other party to arrive. She knew he was already there and stalling just to annoy her but had to play along.

Footfalls sounded behind her and she whipped around quickly, only to be disappointed by a very surprised looking Stormcloak guard.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you." She kept her voice quiet and the guard looked her up and down questionably before walking on.

Sighing, she leaned against the wall of a tall watchtower of the city. The cool stone was uncomfortable on her back but she had to play the waiting game. The city around her began to lighten considerably when she heard quick footsteps walking down the way. Her eyes peered to see who it was and she paused, realizing it was her inquiry.

Ophelia pushed herself off the wall and faced the oncoming man. He was dressed in a nice fur trimmed cloak, his dark hair neatly tied back in a low pony tail and a worn look on his face. He sauntered up to her and she looked up to his face, their height difference still taking her off guard.

"Good morning, Ophelia." He breathed with a smug smile.

"Leiv." She responded with feigned politeness.

Her elder brother reached for a hug but she took a step back, shaking her head, "this isn't the time for reunion. We need to talk."

Leiv rolled his eyes and beckoned her to follow silently. She did so and he led her on a looping path in the city to an undisclosed location. After some time of walking in awkward silence he stopped in front of a small home. He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

Once inside he motioned towards a chair, "have a seat."

She did and rubbed her temples, lack of sleep catching up to her. The house was very, very tiny and decorated nicely – a striking difference from how her brother normally lived. A small hearth burned to the right of the chairs and food stewed over it.

"You look terrible." He sat across from her and frowned.

"No thanks to you."

"True. I sincerely apologize." He bowed his head.

"You're never sincere."

"You're right."

"How's work?" Ophelia sneered but he didn't let it affect him.

"Going swimmingly. I've been keeping very busy as if you couldn't tell."

"So you're just taking orders from the Thalmor, now?"

"Not exactly. They're paying the most and requiring our services, so why not?" He countered, using his hands for emphasis. It annoyed her greatly.

"Because I'm in the firing line. So is Ulfric."

"Do you… have a thing for him?" Leiv chuckled haughtily and it made her tense up.

"We're engaged, if you must know."

"And you left me out of the decision making process?" He frowned suddenly and if she didn't know any better, Ophelia might have taken it seriously, "he is pretty old for you…"

"Shut up. It doesn't matter. I'll give you all the money you want, just leave us alone."

"Can't do that, dearest sister."

"And when they put a hit out on me… or my children? You will let that blade fall without a second thought?" Ophelia was trying her best to not let his nonchalance affect her but the recent turn of events had her on edge.

"Of course I would give it a second thought." He shrugged, "doesn't mean I wouldn't let it happen, though."

"You're an asshole." She snarled, "Also, thanks for that wound earlier."

Leiv chuckled a bit, "you're welcome."

She glared at him and his laughing subsided. They kept eye contact and she clenched her jaw.

"I hate you." She whispered as tears threatening to spill.

"I know." His smile was gone – as was all the humor from his voice. "I don't blame you."

"I need your cooperation, Leiv." She admitted through her teeth.

"I can't do that, Ophelia."

"You're the Listener! By the Divines, that must grant you some privilege."

He rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed, "It really doesn't, actually. Look, you're not immune to the Brotherhood's hits and neither is your lover. Perhaps you should stop pissing people off to the point where they feel the need to call upon us for your death."

This pushed the woman over the edge and she stood, pointing a finger at him, "you won't take any more hits on me or anyone I associate with privately. If you do, there will be a reckoning."

He watched her fleetingly, "is that a threat?"

"Oh, it's more than that." Her blood boiled and she was dizzy from the anger, "if you so much as think about hitting us I will kill you. I'll strike down your _family_. I'll burn that shithole beneath Dawnstar. I'll take that disgusting corpse and relinquish it to Vigilants of Stendarr. I will destroy everything you've built."

"Settle down, mama bear." Leiv raised his hands sarcastically, "of course I'll spare you and your betrothed and whatever… prospective children you have. I am rather saddened by how irrationally you would handle the hypothetical situation of the Brotherhood taking out one of your friends or family. Lest we forget the only reason I signed up was to make enough money to feed you."

"I didn't need your help!" She cried viciously, "You know what would have helped, Leiv? If I had my last damn blood relative with me through all of this peril instead of him running off and murdering people for profit. That was your choice – nothing drove you to it."

He rolled his eyes and let her yell in his face, "calm down, Ophe."

"_Don't_ call me that." She shouted again, her voice becoming hoarse, "you have no right."

"I have every right."

"No. You have no right to my kinship 'til you resign from that despicable cult."

Ophelia, thoroughly angered, hastily marched to the door and opened it.

"Before you run off to get yourself killed by Alduin, I want to talk again. I'll stop by Whiterun when you trap the dragon."

"How did you know?" She whipped her head around to look at him one last time.

He remained in the chair, smirking at her, "I have my ways."

"Fine." She sneered before exiting the home, letting the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

Ophelia took her time while she navigated through the city – trying to bide time to calm herself down before heading back to the Palace. Leiv weighed heavily on her mind. She never knew whether he was going to kill her or help her. This alone made their relationship rocky and coupled with his abandonment of her when she was a child – she wanted nothing to do with him. Yet, he always managed to find her.

By the time she returned to the Palace, the sun was up and the morning shift of guards was moving sluggishly to their posts. The main hall was bustling with people, as the remaining commanders were arriving and last minute preparations were being made.

Galmar, who had been up since she left, made his way over toward her with a frown, "where have you been, Stormblade? I've been looking all over for you."

She shrugged her cloak off and let it hang off of her forearm as she made her way to the war room, "I needed to get some cold air in my lungs. Helps wake me up." He nodded in understanding and fetched some mead off of the table as she packed away her forsaken bedroll.

"Where's Ulfric?" She requested pleasantly.

He yawned, "Probably still asleep. Go wake him, will you? I don't like facing his wrath this early in the morning."

Ophelia fought off a laugh but allowed a small smile. Galmar took his leave and she finished picking up her things. She walked through the door to the bed chambers wing and her eyes scanned the doors. Only one had two guards posted outside of it.

"Pardon, I need to wake the Jarl." She called out to them as she walked down the hallway.

They parted for her and she opened the door softly. The room was nearly pitch black and all she could see was a form sleeping soundly on the bed. She closed the door behind her and silently moved over to the fireplace to rekindle the dying fire. It hissed and croaked as she placed more firewood into it and let a small stream of fire move from her hand to it, causing it to flare up brightly before settling down to normal.

Ophelia moved to the bed and sat on the side, wanting desperately to touch her lover but for some reason was petrified of doing it. At times it felt as if everything she touched would be ruined and the last thing she wanted to ruin was the already broken man in front of her. She shook the self-deprecating thoughts away and risked it.

Leaning down, she placed a kiss on his bare shoulder and let her hand gently move up and down the length of his arm. He stirred and his eyes opened, finding hers. She smiled and moved to place a kiss on his lips. He reciprocated, although only half conscious.

"Good morning." She whispered to him as his hands found her hips and tugged her down further on the bed. She let him have his way with a smirk. Once she lay fully on the bed, he spooned her and pulled her closer to him.

"Ulfric…" she laughed as he cuddled next to her, "you have responsibilities, Ulfric."

"I don't care," his deep voice mumbled tiredly against her shoulder.

"You should." She tangled a hand in his messy hair and pulled him in for a kiss. He let his hands wander from her hips to her backside, where he squeezed. She slapped his hands away and he jokingly glared at her.

"I'm a deprived man, Ophelia. I need you."

Scoffing, she rolled off the bed and tried to bring him up with her. He protested with a growl but slowly began to sit up.

"You teased me all day yesterday, woman. How am I supposed to function?"

"I'm sure you will do just fine." She sighed dramatically, before continuing seriously, "I will meet you tonight after I finish my business with Jorleif. I'm going hunting this afternoon."

"Ophelia, wait." He called for her when she reached the door. She turned and tilted her head to the side. He beckoned her to him with a hand.

Once in front of him he took both of her hands and kissed them, "be safe."

"Of course," she smiled and squeezed his hands. His eyes found hers and he watched her intensely.

She stared at him curiously, "what?"

The eye contact was penetrating and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. He placed a hand on the back of her neck and brought her to him for a deep, long kiss. It took her breath away and when she finally got a chance to pull back, she let out a breathy moan.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he chuckled and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

Ophelia ached to touch him but she had a long day ahead of her, as did he. She straightened up and tried her best to ignore the pulsating in her womb and lightheadedness that nearly overcame her.

"I'll see you tonight?" He muttered and let his hands rest on her hips and she nodded, her mouth unable to form words at that moment.

"Good." Ulfric let his hands drop off of her and she left the room in a hurry, lust pestering her to the point of near insanity. If she didn't have anything to do, she would have pounced on him and ridden him until he couldn't walk.

Shaking her head, she cleared her mind for the day ahead of her – or at least attempted to.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello all! First of all, thank you guys so much for all of the favs, follows and reviews! Like I've said before, it means a lot to me!

I've been working very hard on this chapter and I really enjoy it – I hope you guys do too. It turned out way longer than I intended, as per usual. I've chosen to delve a little further into Ophelia's past, which definitely plays a part later on annnnd yeah!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it. : )

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

Warnings: Smut & foul language

* * *

**_Fifteen years before Alduin's return_**

A cool breeze sifted through the trees as Ophelia walked down the cobblestone path that she was all too familiar with. It was Heartfire of 185 and merely four days since Sariba was laid to rest. Ophelia was tired, emotionally and physically. Sariba's condition had taken a turn for the worse two weeks prior and she was forced to carry the ill Khajiit to the Imperial city, which proved to be useless. It was a very disheartening situation and Ophelia was at a loss. They squatted in the waterfront for several days, Ophelia begging the nearby guards for assistance but they walked on by, ignoring her cries for help.

A few days later, Ophelia carried her second mother to a beautiful meadow outside of the city, where she quietly passed from the world and moved onto the next. Ophelia couldn't bring herself to cry – as she had already done plenty of it – and instead buried her second mother in the beautiful clearing of flowers nearby in silent retreat.

Now she stood at the end of her quick and brutal childhood. She was a vagrant without a coin to her name and in need of care. She knew her birth mother had left her at Weynon Priory before she died and had passed by the settlement several times with Sariba throughout the years. Ophelia decided in the moments of her silent mourning for her second mother that she would visit.

The road to the Priory was quiet the whole way, and she arrived at the small clearing before sundown. People shot her confused looks but didn't offer any words, instead quickly moving to and fro, working endlessly.

There were no priests in sight outside and she decided to try to seek help in the Chapel. As she walked through the double doors, she was hit by the scent of incense and flowers. However, there were not priests there either. Instead, the chapel was being used as a meeting place for Thalmor agents.

"What business do you have here?" One of the she-elves demanded and she bowed her head obediently, as Sariba had taught her to with Thalmor.

"Forgive me. My mother just passed away and I haven't a home or money. I was seeking temporary work until… until I find a place to live."

The agents all looked to the she-elf that had addressed her and she stood, walking over to the small teenager. The elf was tall and striking. Her angular features were outlined by her white hair that framed her face.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"What is your name?"

Ophelia's green eyes locked with the elves amber ones and she felt it difficult to answer. The Thalmor were to be feared and avoided, Sariba had taught her, "Ophelia Highlander."

"You are a Nord… Do you hail from Skyrim?"

"Yes, I was born there, but I immigrated to Cyrodiil when I was little."

The older woman narrowed her eyes and leaned in close to Ophelia, taking her off guard, "what was your father's name?"

"I… I don't know." She honestly didn't.

"Hm. And you're mother? Do you know her name?"

Ophelia did know her mother's first name but held her tongue. This elf was obviously trying to find something out about her and she would rather let sleeping dogs lie.

"Sariba."

"Interesting." The elf leaned back and crossed her arms, her eyes still locked onto Ophelia. "I am Medora. I am a Thalmor Justiciar. Do you know what that means?"

She nodded affirmatively and kept her eyes cast down, "I am familiar."

"Very well. You may stay. We have plenty of work to do around here and could use the help." Medora grinned but even Ophelia could tell something was off. She didn't question and bowed her head in an appreciative manner.

"You may rest in the lodge. Follow me; I shall get you settled in." Medora rested a hand on her back and led her outside of the Chapel. The sun was setting as the tall Elf led her across the small courtyard to the other building.

Once inside, Medora led her up a ladder to the loft of the lodge. It was dark, dusty, filled with boxes, and Ophelia swore she saw dried blood splattered on the wall. However, there was a bed and a small hearth. It was enough.

Medora turned to her, "You may stay here. You're lucky, no one else is allowed up here. You will have your privacy. You can sort through the boxes for clothing and any other provisions. Everything here is old and useless, anyways." She paused, walking back to the ladder, "There is food downstairs. Rest and sleep well. I shall fetch you in the morning for work."

"Thank you." Ophelia called out as the elf began her way down the ladder. Medora didn't respond.

Ophelia found herself feeling very out of place in the loft of the lodge. It was very old. The setting sun shone through the stain glass window and illuminated the fine layer of dust that rested on top of everything.

She ran a hand over one of the large crates that rested in the corner of the room, flicking off the pile up of dust that gathered in front of it. She noticed that the lid of the crate was wedged open and she peeked in. Books and clothing were all she could see and she attempted to pull it up the rest of the way. It broke open with a loud snap and she froze, hoping no one heard her.

When nothing responded to the loud noise from downstairs, she began sifting through it. There were old dresses that were far too large for her and books. A lot of books. Having nothing better to do with her time, she pulled many out at a time and sat with her back against the crate, scanning through them with what remaining light filtered through the window.

_The Warp in the West_

_Beggar_

_Notes on Racial Phylogeny_

They were very old. The pages were stiff and littered with little red scribbles. Whoever owned these practically edited them. She continued to flip through the books until she came across a limp, leather-bound journal. She opened it and read over the elegant handwriting.

_**To whoever comes across this journal:**_

_**I began writing in this journal in Last Seed of 3E, 433. I reserved the first several pages so that when I reach the end of my journey, I can write a preface. My quest will go unseen and unheard of by many – but I still wish to share it.**_

_**My name is Iszara Maximus. I was born 3E, 414. I was imprisoned without trial on my nineteenth name day and destined to die in the pits of the Imperial City. By the will of the Divines, the cell I was imprisoned in was an escape route from the city used by the Blades and the Royal family. **_

_**When the Emperor spotted me, he beckoned me to follow them with great enthusiasm. I was a criminal. For all he knew, I could have been locked away for necromancy or murder – but he ushered me to follow him with a warm smile and kind words. He said he had seen me in his dreams, and that he knew this day would come.**_

_**Confused, I followed him and his guard into the underbelly of the prison. We were close to making it out before we were ambushed by agents of the Mythic Dawn and he vanquished. He was willing to accept his death, and insisted that I take the Amulet of Kings to Weynon Priory.**_

_**Once out of the tunnels, I went along my way to fulfill my Emperor's dying wish. This is how my story began.**_

Ophelia's eyes moved over the words several times with intrigue. This must have been written about the Oblivion crisis. It was something she had heard many things about – all of them conflicting in one way or another. Some accounts tell of a mysterious hero that rose from the ashes of damnation to save all of Tamriel from an invasion of Daedra. Others speak of how the Thalmor stopped the crisis with heroic delegation and determination.

Sariba told her when she was young to take other people's stories and experiences with a grain of salt – unless you saw it with your own two eyes. She didn't know what to make of the Oblivion crisis and it never seemed important to her. After all, the peoples of Tamriel came out on top, so what did it matter?

After finishing the short introduction she closed it and placed it by the bed – saving the reading material for later. She returned back to the crate and rummaged around some more, finding a few dresses and tunics that actually fit her and an old leather pack. If Medora offered her this stuff for free, she would take it.

She opened the bag and turned it upside down, shaking whatever contents were in it out onto the bed. Two objects fell to the bed with a soft thud and she looked over them. There was a gold ring with a small ruby adorning the top and a seal of Akatosh adorning a small silver chain. She gasped with delight at the jewelry and picked them up to observe them.

The necklace was simple and possibly quite cheap but she quickly placed it around her neck and jogged to the window to try to catch a glimpse of her reflection. She couldn't, but played with the amulet with a bright smile on her face. She moved back over to the bed and picked up the ring. A foreign language was etched into the side of the ring and the ruby that decorated it shone vibrantly despite its age. She placed it on her ring finger and smiled when it fit perfectly.

Ophelia guessed all of this material belonged to this Iszara character, as the bag itself had her name sewn into it and the writing in all of the books looked similar to the writing in the journal. She sat on the bed and admired the craft of her newly claimed jewelry before a thought hit her. She had no possessions and she wasn't keen on the idea of having these taken from her. She took them off quickly and searched for the deepest part of the bag and placed them in it, along with the journal and a few books she figured would be useful.

Her eyes darted around the now darkening room, finding a small chest in the opposite side of the room. She went to it and crouched in front of her, plucking a lock pick that she hid inside of her boot. With some struggle, she managed to unlock the chest and she pulled the top up, the noise of the rusty hinges making her cringe.

Once up, she peeked inside of it and gasped. There was an elven dagger, a steel short sword that shown brightly with an enchantment, a pair of boots, a set of leather armor that looked more suited for a man, and an amulet of Talos. She took the amulet and placed it in the bag, along with the dagger. She pulled out the sword and laughed softly. It was remarkable.

She swung it around carelessly, hitting a few of the crates but not allowing herself to give a damn about it. Sparks flew from the blade when it made contact with the wood and she backed off, not wanting to cause a fire. She took her bag and sword, tossing them on the bed and bringing all of the books and other materials that belonged to Iszara and placing them in the chest, locking it.

She retrieved the dagger and carved her name carefully into the front of the chest, hoping that if someone was to find it, they would send it to her. With her new belongings taken care of, she was giddy.

Ophelia pulled on a simple dress she found and climbed down the ladder, her stomach growling ferociously. There was a Thalmor agent in the dining area when she entered and he glanced at her before looking back down at his food. She didn't say anything but sat down at the opposite end of the table and began eating.

"What is your name?" He asked suddenly. His voice was soft and youthful. It was hard to dictate most elves ages by simply looking at them, but she was good at telling by their voices. He must not have been much older than her.

"Ophelia Highlander. What is your name?" She replied with a mouthful of bread.

"Vien."

"Nice to meet you." Ophelia offered politely with a nod of her head. He returned it and they both continued to eat in silence. She felt awkward by not being able to hold a conversation but didn't see what else she could do. Once Vien was finished eating, he stood and began to pick up his plate to clean it.

She saw and stopped him with a hand raised, "I'll take care of it."

"What?" He asked, confused by her sudden outburst.

"I'll clean the dishes. You can go on about your day."

"Oh," he paused and put the plate back down, his bright green eyes looking at her inquisitively, "you really don't have to. Medora told us to let you rest…"

"You are all being gracious hosts to me. It's the least I can do at this moment." She said humbly.

He nodded, keeping an even expression and then took his leave quietly. Once she finished eating, she cleaned the dirty dishes and returned to the attic, which was now almost completely dark. She lit the hearth and lay in the old, dusty bed. The skittering sound of bugs and mice irritated her but she tried her best to ignore it. She was lucky to have a bed this evening, and she refused to complain. She slept peacefully that evening.

Heartfire turned into Frostfall and Frostfall into Sun's Dusk. Ophelia's spirits were high and her outlook optimistic by the welcoming and warm nature of the Altmer that took her in. Medora had been particularly kind to her and she was eternally grateful for it. She kept Ophelia busy – from tending to the horses to scribing their meetings, she was around the agents almost constantly for several months. Medora was even kind enough to give her extra money to go shopping in Chorrol.

Vien had also taken a special interest in her, and she in him. She learned many things about him from their nightly discussions. He was born on the island of Alinor and was raised on mainland Tamriel, where he was recruited by the Dominion as a battle mage. Ophelia found this fascinating and frequently asked him to try to teach her to strengthen her magic, although he always smiled and brushed off her request.

As the days grew longer, she frequently found herself rushing through her nightly chores to wait for him at the table. She enjoyed the conversation he would initiate and he seemed to enjoy her presence as well, which led them to a comfortable companionship.

Their companionship soon turned into a tutorship within the year. He taught her how to harness her magic and gave her his old tomes for basic spells. He would lead her out into the forest so they could practice. As her magic excelled, he taught her how to properly handle various weapon. He was always patient with her and openly admired her willingness to learn.

One chilly evening in Rain's Hand he came to her with new tomes after a prolonged absence. She smiled when he poked his head into the attic and greeted her with an enthusiastic hello.

"Vien! Where have you been?" She questioned as she helped him up the last few awkward steps of the ladder.

He held out rucksack and exhaled noisily, "I have been chosen to go to Skyrim to deal with a minor conflict in Markarth. I went to finish the last of my training for it. I'm going to become a Justiciar like Medora."

Her smiled dropped a little but she forced enthusiasm, turning and walking to her bed, "that's great! How long will you be gone?"

He pulled off his heavy overcoat and she heard it drop on the floor behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed and curled her legs underneath her and setting the bag next to her.

"As far as I know, the move might be permanent. I'll be leaving in the morn." He smirked, looking quite pleased with himself.

"I'm going to miss you." She pouted and leaned her head against the wall.

His eyes found hers and his accomplished smirk faded. He coughed and straightened out his robes, "watch your words, Ophelia."

"I'm just joking!" She playfully chided, reaching out and tapping his arm. She wasn't, but he always deflected her flirtations in that way. Regardless of how kind the Thalmor had been to her, she knew her race was always a factor in how they treated her at times. In private, she noticed most were incredibly kind and warm people but in public they regarded her with stiffness and superiority.

As attractive and pleasant as Vien was with her, she knew it could never be. It hurt, but she pushed the pain of that fact as far away as possible.

Obviously trying to deflect from her odd behavior he sat next to her and began unloading the books he brought to her, "Medora is leaving as well. There's going to be a new Justiciar here soon. From what I've heard, she's not exactly the nicest of people."

His warning was vague but she knew all too well what he was referring to. Some of the Thalmor that passed by had been shockingly rude to her and at times borderline violent. One she-elf even slapped Ophelia for simply welcoming her to the priory. It wasn't Ophelia's fondest experience with the Thalmor.

She nodded, "I see."

"I think… I think it would be best if you were to leave soon. You can't stay here forever, after all." He advised lightheartedly, his beautiful green eyes bearing down on her. She blushed at his gaze and fiddled with the hem of her dress.

Ophelia had grown quite comfortable at Weynon Priory and the thought of leaving disturbed her greatly. She wasn't exactly well-equipped for self-reliance. Although Sariba's general wisdom and Vien's training helped.

A quiet overtook them as Ophelia stared off into space. She thought about having to leave and what a terrifying place Tamriel had proven to be. She wished she could just go with Vien, but knew better than to think that. There was greatness that she was destined to come across – but where?

"Hey…" he reminded softly, "I have some things for you."

Broken out of her trance, Ophelia gazed down at the books he held in his hands. They were all advanced tomes, she noted with excitement and a smile grew on her face.

Vien grinned brightly, "I guessed you would enjoy these. They're my old ones, but still as useful."

"Thank you!" She nervously fingered the pages of the first book in the stack and quickly shut it – an idea striking her in that moment, "wait right here."

"Hm?" Vien cocked his head to the side and watched her as she jumped from the bed and moved to the opposite side of the room, kneeling before a small chest.

Ophelia opened it and pulled out the bag she had kept all of her valuables in. She stood and brought it over to the bed, where she began to rifle through it.

"I have something for you." She searched the bag and let out a triumphant yelp as she touched it. She pulled out an enchanted gold band she had come across in the attic and held it out to him with a smile.

"I have no clue what it does, but it was appraised at eight hundred Septims."

His eyes widened at the price and he pushed her hand back defiantly, shaking his head, "absolutely not. You need the money."

"Ha! I really don't. I know this ring is special and that's why I want you to have it. You mean a lot to me, Vien. This is the least I can do, really."

He sighed and gazed at her, shaking his head slowly, "You humans are awfully sentimental."

"Yes, we are. And if I were a Mer, I would reap from those beneficial moments of sentimentality – especially when it manifests as an expensive ring." The young woman replied with a sarcastic smile, pressing the ring against his chest. Vien laughed and caught it.

He looked down at the ring admirably before slipping it on his finger, "thank you, Ophelia."

"You're welcome." Suddenly, the bag dropped to the floor. She cursed under her breath as the various trinkets she had in it fell out.

She kneeled on the floor and began gently placing them back in her bag when Vien's hand came from nowhere and gripped her forearm tightly. She winced and looked up to him, confused.

"What's wrong?"

"What is that?" He interrupted her, his voice tinged with irritation.

Terrified, she looked down at the floor where his eyes were focused and she shook her head, "I – I don't know… I don't know what a majority of this stuff is."

He let go of her arm and kneeled with her, grasping the amulet of Talos and bringing it to eye level, "this."

"I don't know." She did know but she also knew the Thalmor's stance on Talos good and well. She simply kept the amulet for its potential value. In fact, that's why she kept all of the trinkets she found at the priory.

"It's an amulet of Talos…" His voice deepened with either anger or disappointment. She couldn't tell which, but felt terrible guilt rise within her.

"I found it here. I didn't know what it was, I swear. I don't worship Talos…" She nearly begged, her voice trembling. Vien was the only constant in her life and if she fucked this up, she would be all alone again.

He frowned, "I believe you. But you're a Nord and this," he held up the amulet for emphasis, "can get you killed on the spot. They won't have any mercy on those caught worshipping this false God."

The cruel portents in his voice made her feel sick.

"I'm sorry. I kept it for the price. Here, take it and purge it." She pushed his hand to himself and he dropped the amulet to the floor, not offering it another glance.

"I'm just reminding you to exercise caution." He chastised softly and placed a hand on her arm.

"I know."

He pulled his hand away and looked back to the floor, "I will be gone before you wake in the morning. It was an honor getting to know you, Ophelia. I hope our paths cross again."

"Thank you for everything. I hope so, too." She smiled sadly, forsaking her guilt.

He stood and took a good look around the attic one more time, his eyes falling on the amulet that lay at his feet. He picked it up and held it for a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his robes, grabbing his jacket and leaving.

Ophelia didn't know how to feel about his leaving. She was upset, yes. Yet she didn't cry or even feel upset. He had left, and that was okay. Medora was leaving too… and now she had to find a new home…

She sighed and shoved whatever remaining small treasures she had into her bag and tossing it next to her bed. She owed a visit to the Imperial city the next day to find a new home. Maybe she could enroll at the Arcane University – or take up arms with the Legion. Either way, she hoped for the best as she drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

When Ophelia woke she was in the Palace of the Kings. Disoriented, she sat up, faintly smelling the distinct cedar wood furniture of the attic she lived in nearly sixteen years ago. Breathing heavily, she sat up, placing her hands on either side of her head and pressed firmly.

The most curious part of being Dragonborn was her memory. In lieu of dreams she found herself slipping into memories whenever she slept. It was exasperating, to say the least. Her life wasn't memorable in the best of ways and the memories were nothing more than an outlet in which to relive pain.

Ophelia was left dismayed by the memory she had relived in her state of sleep. Vien was… she didn't know what he was to her. Her first friend? Her first love? Sixteen years and she still didn't know. The memory also made her feel uneasy. Being that close to the Thalmor… how could she have been so naïve?

She spun herself around and placed her bare feet on the floor, running a hand through her hair. For some reason she was in Ulfric's temporary room, and was alone. Since there were no windows, she had no concept of time. All she remembered was meeting Leiv, hunting in the forest south of the city, and by noon signing the deed to Hjerim and hearing Jorleif complain about her not using her real name. Everything else was lost on her. Her lack of sleep the night before must have done her in.

She rose from the bed and sat by the fire contently. As she warmed herself, she thought about how fascinating it was that while she was leisurely living among the Thalmor as a servant, Ulfric was being held prisoner in Markarth.

Time was an oddity, that's for sure.

The door cracked open and she ducked her head, unaware of whether or not she was even allowed in Ulfric's room. She peeked around the corner of the bed and let out a sigh of relief as her fiancé entered the room and closed the door, his eyes scanning the room.

"Ophelia?" He called out quietly.

"I'm here." She raised her hand and she heard his foot falls near.

Once next to her, he joined her by the fire, "are you alright?"

"Yeah…" she trailed off, "I… I just woke up. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I figured." He muttered and rubbed his large hands together. She watched him as he observed them in a nearly critical way.

Ophelia wordlessly reveled in the satisfaction his being there. All thoughts of her past flew out of the window when he was near. It was relieving.

"You're awfully quiet." He commented, using his arm for support as he leaned back.

She chuckled, "Sometimes I am, believe it or not."

"What's on your mind?" He countered her deflection.

She hesitated, "I sometimes don't have dreams when I sleep. I relive memories. Today was one of those days. I - well – it was just an unpleasant memory."

"I'm sorry." He offered gently and brought his hand up to rest at the base of her neck. His touch made a cold chill move from the base of her spine to the tips of her fingers. She liked it.

"It's alright… What were you up to?"

"Exhilarating briefings to my commanders." He replied sarcastically, "trying to convince them that your idea isn't some sort of Skooma-inspired nonsense."

The two remained quiet for some time, his large, rough hand caressing the nape of her neck. Abruptly, Ophelia took his hand away from her and crawled over to him, her lips meeting his in a startlingly heated kiss. She heard the low growl that escaped him when she climbed into his lap and smirked. His hands rested on her hips as he kissed her back. Just as she ground her hips into his, a loud knock at the door disturbed them.

Ulfric pulled away with a pained expression, "Yes?"

"My Jarl, you're needed in the War room urgently." Jorleif called from outside of the door.

"Fuck." He muttered and nearly pushed her off of him. Ophelia laughed at his reaction and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

"I'll be right there!" He stood and scowled, "Divines forbid I ever get a moment to myself."

Ophelia bit her lip and leaned against the bed mischievously.

His eyebrow quirked, "I'm going to destroy you when I come back."

"I'll hold you to that." She narrowed her eyes as she whispered the words suggestively.

Ulfric straightened himself out before opening the door and stepping outside, leaving Ophelia alone to her thoughts.

* * *

Ulfric, tired and turned on beyond all human comprehension, walked to the war room fast paced. He would be damned before politics took him away from that woman again. As he walked into war room he was met by Jorleif and Galmar, who both looked concerned. Perplexed by their reactions, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Elisif and her personal guard are here."

He rolled his eyes and pushed through his comrades, and into the main hall. It was relatively empty, as night had already fallen and the guards were shifting their posts. Elisif stood in front of his throne, her face stony and determined. Her eyes found him and he grinned tightly.

"Elisif." He greeted with a nod of his head and took his seat on the throne.

She responded with a curt hum before taking a deep breath, "I need to speak to you about the moot."

"Ugh," he complained and rolled his eyes, "can't this wait for another time? I have bigger things to worry about."

"I wouldn't brush this off so quickly, Ulfric," she responded shortly, "I simply came by to tell you that when the time comes, I will not contest you."

This took him by surprise, "Pardon?"

"I will not contest you." She repeated, her frown deepening.

"Why?"

"Because I have had enough of it and I wish to return to being the Jarl of Solitude. The needs of my people are more important than this grab for power." Her voice was filled with pride but also irritation.

He was confused by rather pleased by this, "Very well, then."

"There is something else I wish to tell you – not as royals or nobles but as Nords." She paused and looked down to her hands, her breath quivering ever so slightly, "I don't like you. I hate you. You killed my husband as a statement. His death was unjust I have come to terms with that."

"However, I do feel it important to give you these words before you ascend to High King: Torygg admired you greatly when he was alive. He saw your adoration of this land as something Nords had long forsaken. The throne is rightfully his, but as it passes onto you all I can request is that you put an end to the recent rampage one way or another."

The main hall was eerily quiet as he waited for her admission to sink in. Torygg rarely crossed Ulfric's mind because every time he would be consumed by guilt. He knew he shouldn't have killed the young King but shortsightedly thought that it would have been the proper pushed. He attempted to justify his actions but never could do so properly. Ignoring it altogether is what helped him sleep at night.

He refused to bring an apology forth, "I will try my best."

"That's all I can ask for," she bowed her head, "I must go now, I have business to attend to in the Rift."

He let her leave without a word and was left sitting alone on his throne, everyone else looking on in silence. Elisif had every right to hate him and he felt as if he did too, but her words deeply perturbed him. Had he known Torygg's admiration of him, would he have killed him? He didn't know. He couldn't answer.

Ulfric's opinion on his life choices perpetually hung in suspension. He wasn't a shining beacon of morality and never pretended to be. He did whatever was necessary to whatever assets he was able to possess and that pushed him in life. He had hurt many people and dug many graves.

Now and again he didn't even feel worthy of another breath. So many years of turmoil and pain marred his memories, haunting him and creating bitter self-fulfilling prophecies. His actions had always been carried out in the name of a significant end – but perhaps the means were too far to even be excusable.

How or why Ophelia even found it within herself to be with him was baffling. She was devious and egotistical… but her very existence was a blessing to all.

With solemn acknowledgement, he realized in that moment that the only saving grace in his life was currently waiting in his bedroom, shrouded by secret. She had opened him up more than he had let on. He would do anything for her and in turn she delivered him salvation.

To be worth something to someone.

To be worth something to her.

As imperfect and unconventional as their relationship was, he found himself elated by her thoughtfulness and caring for her significantly more than he had ever cared for anyone else. Even himself.

"Ulfric?" Galmar's voice broke him from his thoughts as he stood from his throne.

"I'm retiring for the night." He rushed his way through the war room, anxiously wanting to get back to his bedroom. Galmar let him walk by without a word and Ulfric silently thanked his friend. As he neared the door to his temporary chambers, he kept his face emotionless, warding off the self-loathing that dug at his very soul.

The guards were in the middle of switching posts and the ones that normally stood outside of his door were nowhere to be found. He opened the door and slipped inside, his eyes searching for Ophelia. As he locked the door, his eyes caught her by the fire with a book. Her boots and leggings were off, leaving her in the large tunic she seemed to favor. Her hair was tied back into a neat braid that fell down the middle of her back. She must have done it while he was gone.

"Ophelia." His voice was strained and raspy and he didn't even care. He was desperate to feel something other than the wretchedness of his past. She looked up to him and smiled. A weight was lifted off of his shoulders at the simple expression and joyfully threw herself onto the bed, crossing her legs.

He continued to gaze at her, wanting to touch her but his pride keeping him from doing so. Doubt filled his head as her smiled faded with is prolonged silence. A battle raged inside of him – one half seeking the loving comfort of her touch and the other driving him into the self-destructive isolation he used to turn to in times like these.

Without another word, he threw off his coat and let it fall to the floor. As he walked to the bed, her smile returned. He didn't want this to be like their first encounter. He wanted to explore her, to kiss every inch of her body and let his hands memorize every detail.

Once at the edge of the bed he crawled over her. As he moved, she laid back and let her arms loop around his neck. The way she looked at him with trust and want drove him mad. He hadn't even touched or kissed her yet and he felt like he was about to explode.

"Ophelia… I need you." He whispered against her neck. Admitting it made him feel weak, made him feel inferior to her, but he wasn't going to deny himself of the feelings she evoked. His right hand found to her waist and squeezed tightly. He loved the way she felt under him.

"You have me." She breathed into his ear, letting her lips touch it gently. He exhaled and moved her legs further up his waist, grinding his now raging erection against her entrance. She let out a delighted sigh and he smiled.

Ulfric pushed himself up and pulled the layers of his clothes off as quickly as possible, his eyes locked onto her as she yanked off her tunic and her smalls. She lay nude in front of him at last, a happy smile gracing her face and her hands covering her breasts playfully. He pulled off the last of his clothing with haste, crawling on top of her again.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss as he let his hands wander all over her body. From the exposure of her delectable neck to the crest of her wide hips, his fingertips explored inquisitively.

"You're so gorgeous." He whispered to her as gripped her hips and brought her closer to the edge of the bed. She blushed at his compliment and arched her back, causing her thigh to rub against his free erection painfully. He groaned at the contact.

"Ulfric," she whined softly as he continued to let his hands touch the expanse of her body, watching from above as she squirmed.

He smiled as his fingers stroked the insides of her thighs tenderly, just next to her now swollen and wet slit. She arched her back again and Ulfric thwarted her attempt at contact, pushing her back down onto the bed. She frowned playfully and let her hands move down her own body seductively. He watched her hands move from the full mounts of her breasts to her narrow waist and rest finally on her hips.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he sank two fingers into her and a sigh left her parted lips. He smiled as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her, appreciating the way her body moved in response to his ministrations.

She let her head fall back with reverie as he continued to please her with his fingers and his lips found her breasts. He kissed them before moving his mouth over the peaks, sucking on each of her nipples softly. Ophelia moaned and brought her head back up to watch him intently. He noticed this and let his teeth scrape lightly over the sensitive bud he held in his mouth, enjoying the vocal reaction he received from her.

Ulfric withdrew his fingers and braced himself over her with his left arm and guided himself into her with his right. He bottomed out inside of her and he groaned into the kiss. Her walls quivered around him and he pulled away from the kiss, placing his forehead against hers.

It felt so good that he was afraid of moving. She was so warm and tight. He had longed for this moment since Solitude and her beautiful form writhing and whimpering below him wasn't helping his struggling stamina. Her hands rose to his chest and she dug her fingers in while she groaned between their heated kisses. He pulled out fully before bottoming out again, a deep groan leaving him as she engulfed him. She arched her back but kept her hands on his chest, clawing at him desperately. He loved it.

Forcing himself to continue on, Ulfric set a pace that seemed to keep her mewling beneath him while helping him reel himself back. He sat up, pulling her pelvis onto her lap but keeping her horizontal, fucking her into the mattress. A choked moan left her as he thrust harshly into her, his hands gripping her hips.

"Ulfric!" She cried out, bringing her hands down from his chest finally and grabbing the sheets frantically. Breathy moans and whimpers left her and he could tell she was close. He leaned over her and raised one of her legs over his shoulder, hitting her in places that incited louder moans from her.

"You like that?" He muttered as he tangled a hand in her hair, bringing her face to his.

She bared her teeth and her eyes shut, "yes. I love it."

Ulfric obliged, letting her go from his vice grip and allowed her to fall back down to the bed fully. He spread her legs as wide as he could and quickened the pace, her body surging back and forth violently with his thrusts.

He was close and her reactions stirred the most animalistic of instincts within him. He swallowed his pride and fucked her quickly and frantically, not caring about tact or romance. He needed this. She needed this.

Ophelia's hips bucked against his and she threw her head back suddenly, a scream ripping from her throat. Her walls clamped down around him and he felt himself nearing the edge she was already tipping over.

While she came he leaned down and swallowed the fountain of curses and blessings that spilled from her mouth with a deep kiss. Her nails dug into his shoulders and he seized, the intensity of his oncoming orgasm overwhelming him to the point of speechlessness. An elongated strained grunt left his mouth as he spilled himself inside of her.

He wrapped his arms around her whole body and withdrew, his seed spilling out of her with him. Ulfric didn't remember falling asleep but he opened his eyes and felt as if he had just slept for a whole night peacefully. She remained in his arms, mewling enjoyably against his chest, her hands idly touching his sides.

"That was nice." Her goofy grin made him quirk and eyebrow.

"Just nice?"

"Well…" she pulled herself from under him and settled to his side, resting her chin on his shoulder, "you did say you would destroy me. Not exactly destruction..."

"_Now_ you nitpick?" He rolled his eyes and sat up next to her, admiring her naked body. She was perfect.

A kiss was placed on his lips as his eyes found the small mound of soft hair between her thighs. She giggled and climbed on top of him. He smiled and let her while bringing his hands behind his head.

"I think I could get used to this." He said softly as her breasts pressed against his chest. Divines, he didn't realize how much he missed this. The skin against skin contact was intoxicating.

"I know I could." She placed light kisses along his jaw before nuzzling her face into his neck.

His mind was pleasantly clear and he felt himself relaxing like never before. Ophelia rolled off of him at some point but returned to him within seconds, curling into his side as they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Ophelia woke sometime later, feeling almost ill as she sat up to look around the dim room. Ulfric no longer slept beside her and the hearth was gone. She sat up and dressed herself, tying her hair up and making sure she at least looked somewhat presentable.

Her stomach growled and her head ached terribly, although her body felt relaxed from the sex and sleep she had been missing for so long. Ulfric was uncharacteristically affectionate during the whole ordeal but she enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace.

As she opened the door, several servants passed by. One man in particular grimaced at her as if she were an animal. She was shocked and scowled right back at him, slamming the door behind her for good measure. When his pace quicken considerably, she smirked to herself in victory.

Once he was out of her sight she made her way down the hallway, trying to rub as much sleepiness from her eyes as she could. She didn't want to reveal more than Ulfric was willing to, and she panicked when she couldn't come up with a believable excuse as to why she was in his quarters for so long. When she made it to the war room, she gasped as she saw sunlight filter through the window.

She had slept all night after sleeping all day? Shit.

She cursed silently as she struggled to force herself into the main hall. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned by his court even more. Galmar had recently taken an interest in her heritage… as had Jorleif. When she tried to sign the deed to Hjerim as Stormblade, he nearly threw a conniption fit.

Inhaling deeply and bracing herself, she opened the door to the main hall and proudly stepped in. Ulfric, as per usual, sat upon his throne, unyielding as ever as Jorleif read something off to him. Galmar was at the table with the commanders, discussing something noisily. Everyone else seemed to be too preoccupied to notice her lackluster entrance and she thanked the Divines for it.

Hungry, she made her way to the table and sat at the opposite end of Galmar and the commanders. Galmar and her made eye contact and she smiled friendly, as did he. However, he didn't say anything and went back to his discussion. She pulled food onto the plate that sat in front of her and began to eat ravenously. She didn't really eat anything the day before and after twelve hours of sleeping and sex, she was a hungry woman.

Ulfric didn't even offer her so much as a glance as he talked quietly with Jorleif. She doubted he had even glanced at her since she walked it. It still annoyed her but she understood and obliged his wishes.

"Feeling better?" A gruff voice asked behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see the source. It was Wuunferth. The old man remained emotionless as he took a seat across from her and poured himself some wine.

Ophelia, having a mouth full of food, answered, "Yes. Much."

"You slept for a very long time." He commented and began spooning food onto his plate, "probably for the best though…"

Ophelia, thoroughly puzzled by his statement, threw him a speculative glance, "what do you mean?"

Wuunferth shook his head, "nothing, nothing. I simply meant you needed the rest because of your wound."

"Oh…" she answered, still not convinced that he wasn't alluding to some reference she wasn't getting.

"So when you trap this dragon, what are you planning on doing to it?" He attempted conversation casually, looking at her.

The woman shrugged, "depends on a few things. If he is lucid and submissive, I'm going to try to talk to him. If not, then I will have no choice but to kill him."

"Him?" Wuunferth asked with a perplexed expression.

"They have genders."

"I'm perfectly aware of that but you speak of… it as if it's a person."

Ophelia shrugged again, leaning back as she prompted herself to explain, "I mean… they're not all that different from us. They can speak and feel. I don't believe they're too keen on emotional display but it's clear they still feel things like us."

"Hm. Interesting." Wuunferth's voice was somewhere in between not caring and malicious. It was always like that with her. She couldn't tell if the wizard hated her or put up with her just enough to not kill her.

She finished her food in silence and excused herself. As she stood, she saw the door the main hall open and up to twenty people walk in at once. A mixture of men and women – clearly nobles – walked past her and looked at her with near contempt. It was probably because she looked common and refused to bow.

Rolling her eyes, she let them pass and trotted to the barracks to retrieve her belongings. The chest she had stowed them away hadn't been tampered with, she was pleased to notice, and she opened it to find her bag and weapons.

She hadn't any armor at the moment but didn't think it would be necessary for her ride to Whiterun. It was usually tame and quick. As she reached into her bag for the amulet of Talos she always carried with her, she spotted the name crudely stitched into the side of the bag and smiled.

_Iszara. _

Whoever she was, her story had provided Ophelia with the motivation and drive she needed at times. The journal she had kept with her for years rested safely in her house at Whiterun and rarely saw the light of day. In fact, she never finished it. Making a mental note to do so when she got home, Ophelia grabbed the amulet and tied it around her neck.

She took her hair down, shaking the mane out furiously before bringing it back into a high pony tail and securing it. She fastened her quiver across her chest and threw the bag over her shoulder along with her bow.

"Stormblade?" A young Stormcloak asked when he spotted her across the empty barracks.

She looked up and smiled, "yes?"

"I have a favor to ask… I was going to go through my commander to get either Galmar or Ulfric to ask it of you but I was afraid it would never make it to you…" He was nervous and she could tell. The look of concern on his youthful face made her feel mysteriously guilty and suddenly very conscious about her age.

"What is it?"

"I just received a letter from my ma a few days ago. My sister's gone missing."

"Where did she go missing from?"

"My ma lives in Whiterun. My little sister, Eva, went out to tend to the farm she works on and never returned. We can't get anyone to look for her. The Companions tried but couldn't find anything. We can't afford much else."

Ophelia nodded, "What's your mother's name?"

"Freya."

The young man's eyes were red from crying and it pulled at her heart strings. If the Companion's couldn't find her there was little chance that Ophelia would be able to. But she sucked it up and was determined to at least try.

"I'll take care of it - free of charge."

The boy smiled, "thank you so much!"

"You're welcome. Divines be with you." She smiled back and walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder before leaving the barracks and making her way back into the main hall. She would try her best to find the girl but it would have to wait until the dragon is taken care of.

When she finally entered the main hall, she noticed Galmar and the commanders had left and now Ulfric sat at the head of the table. The nobles that passed by her were sitting at the now cleared off table and conversing about Ulfric's bid at the moot.

He was sipping from his goblet as she entered and his eyes found hers. They simply stared at each other for a moment before he beckoned her over to his position with a quick flick of his hand. She obeyed, trying to ignore how the eyes of the nobles followed her every step. Once at the head of the table Ulfric stood and placed a hand on her back, motioning towards the people at the table.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Dragonborn – also known as Stormblade."

Ophelia suddenly felt bashful and fought off the urge to hide behind Ulfric. She hated this kind of shit with a passion but forced a very tense smile and small wave to the people in front of her. They raised their goblets and hailed her – well, almost all of them did. Several of the women and even a couple of the men seated further down simply gawked at her, which made her feel even more uncomfortable.

"She is the tip of the Stormcloak spear." Ulfric's voice held boisterous pride she had never heard before and she bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to react. She looked back at him for guidance, only to meet his uncharacteristically enthusiastic smile. It made her feel weird.

"Would you care to join us?" He asked politely, motioning to the table.

She shook her head, "I'm afraid I mustn't. I'm on my way to Whiterun."

It was strange to put on a show in front of others. Oh, if only people knew how they first became intimately acquainted with each other. The thought made her grin.

"I hope to see you again, friend." Ulfric embraced her as two brothers would and she fought off a laugh. This was so weird.

"I'm sure we'll cross paths soon," she allowed a smirk and Jorleif stepped up beside her to escort her to the door of the main hall.

As the two were walking away from the table, she chortled lightly and leaned near him, "what is that all about?"

Jorleif jeered, "Nobles trying to kiss Ulfric's ass. Well… He's trying to garner more support from them and they're trying to get him to marry one of their relatives. It's a strange cycle of ass kissing."

Ophelia laughed and looked over her shoulder. Ulfric was staring straight at her with a smile. She couldn't tell if it was genuine or not but chose not to care in that moment. They both had their duties.

"Ulfric wanted me to let you know that he will be in Whiterun in three days' time. If for some reason something changes between now and then send one of the Stormcloak couriers." He informed her once they made it to the door.

The two shared goodbyes and she left with haste. She had a busy few days ahead of her.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello all! Thank you guys so much for the reviews and the favs/follows! Again, it means soooo much to me. Seriously, one of the brighter parts of my day is seeing an email that someone has reviewed/faved/followed. Thank you so so so so so much! :)

Anyways, this chapter took forever to write and in fact, this is only half of it. I'll be updating early next week with the other half of it (The Fallen woooo!) and yeah! I hope you all enjoy this and I will return next Tuesday (maybe Monday, maybe Wednesday) with the second half of this chapter.

As per usual with all the stuff I publish, I'm really anal about editing so if there are any errors, I will probably come back and update it a gazillion times before I finish the story.

*hearts*

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Smut at the end of the chapter, violence, talk of kidnapping.

* * *

Whiterun was a welcome sight to Ophelia. The sun had set long before her horse reached the gate and the guards welcomed her with weary smiles and bows of the head.

"Dragonborn!" A very familiar youthful voice called for her as she walked through the gate. Her eyes darted to her left for the source and there stood Braith, as annoying and bratty as ever. She had done pretty well recently ignoring the child but alas her luck ran out. She forced a smile and began walking, hoping that the girl would leave her be.

The Gods smiled on her that day, as Braith's mother called for her as she was about to come and pester Ophelia. Breathing out a sigh of relief and inhaling one out of nervousness, her steps felt far too heavy as she made her way down the cobblestone road to Breezehome. Once at the door of the small house she took another deep breath, releasing it as she swiftly opened the door.

Lydia was sitting down at the hearth, reading a book. She looked up with shock when the door opened and just stared at Ophelia in the doorway. Closing the door behind her, Ophelia awkwardly stepped into the house. It was odd not feeling welcomed in her own home.

Ophelia didn't really know what she was expecting from this – was Lydia going to apologize and everything going to be okay? Or was their permanent damage to their friendship? The possibilities were endless, really, and the silence of her companion wasn't helping her racing mind.

"I'm so sorry about my behavior, Ophelia." Lydia's apology was a pleasant surprise to Ophelia and she let out a sigh of relief. Lydia was loyal but very passionate about things, and at times would let her heart rule her mind.

"It's alright." Ophelia began taking her equipment off and tried to diffuse the tension that still resided between the two, "usually it's me who's getting drunk and acting out."

"True," Lydia laughed but said nothing else. She stood from her seat and took Ophelia's equipment as she removed it. Once left in just her clothing, Ophelia rubbed her hands together and looked into the pot that hung over the hearth.

"What are you making?"

"Rabbit stew." Lydia called from the other room as she was putting Ophelia's stuff away for her.

Ophelia grimaced. Normally she wouldn't have minded it but something was off about it to her this evening. Attributing her lack of hunger with stress, she went to the kitchen and poured herself some water before returning to the hearth and sitting. As she waited for Lydia to return, she went to the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room and skimmed through the spines of the books quickly. She stopped on a brown journal – Iszara's journal – and pulled it out to glance through it.

"So where have you been?" Lydia asked when she returned to the main room.

Ophelia stood back up with the journal and sat down, turning her full attention to Lydia, "well, I fought Alduin. I wasn't expecting to, but he showed up. That wasn't too much fun. He flew away."

"What?" The tinge of anger in Lydia's voice made Ophelia cringe.

"Relax, it wasn't much of a fight anyways," she lied through her teeth, "he flew away mid fight and now I have to find him."

"How is that?"

"I'm assuming you're familiar with the tales of why Dragonsreach was created?"

Lydia nodded and sipped on a beer, "Of course I am."

"Well, I'm going to use that to capture and interrogate his right hand – right winged?" Ophelia paused for a moment to think about the terminology before shaking her head, "whatever Dragons refer to as their second in command, Odahviing."

Lydia's mouth fell open and her eyes were wide, "you're going to bring a Dragon into Dragonsreach."

"Yup."

"No," Lydia laughed sarcastically, "no, you're not."

"I have little choice in the matter Lydia," Ophelia attempted to defend her plan but Lydia cut her off.

"You're going to bring a dragon into this city – with all of these people – to interrogate it?"

"When you put it that way it sounds like a terrible plan."

Lydia scoffed, "maybe because it is?" She stood and began pacing around the room anxiously.

Ophelia scowled bitterly and shook her head. "Lydia, it's happening with or without your blessing and I would appreciate a little more faith."

Lydia glanced at her Thane momentarily before shaking her head, "yes, my Thane."

The title held sincere indignation but her faith in Ophelia's plan didn't change. It irritated Ophelia but she let it go. It wasn't worth getting bent out of shape for.

Ophelia remained silent after their encounter, opting for drinking her water in silence and flipping through the pages of the journal. She missed Ulfric already, and it only annoyed her further. Feeling exhausted, she stood and began to make her way upstairs to her bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Lydia asked.

"I'm going to sleep. I'm very tired." It was the truth – Ophelia had been incomprehensibly tired all day and she had no clue why, but it was taking its toll on her. Her eyes burned with the need for sleep and her vision blurred ever so slightly.

"Are you sure? Do you want to eat something?"

The thought along made Ophelia feel ill. The constant worrying she faced every day made her forget her appetite and other basic needs. "I'm fine, Lydia. I'll eat in the morning. Goodnight."

"All right, then…"

Ophelia made it to her door and tried to open it, only to be disappointed when it would budge. She backed away from it, eyeing it suspiciously before trying again. She sighed and placed her goblet of water and journal down, gripping the handle tightly and bracing her body against it and heaving into it. It fell open and she stumbled into the room. Everything in the room was neat and tidy, thanks to Lydia.

"Lydia!" She called as she left the room to retrieve her goblet and book, "my door is fucked up."

"Yeah, I know. You did it."

"What?" Her eyes narrowed as she peeked down the steps at the other woman.

Lydia wore a smirk and crossed her arms, "you shouted it open a few weeks ago when you were drunk off your ass."

Ophelia frowned and shook her head, "please don't ever allow me to do something like that again."

"I'll try."

Ophelia entered her room and forced the door closed behind her with a loud bang. She set her things down and began stripping out of her armor. She grimaced as she looked down at her body – she needed a bath terribly. Her eyes caught a glimpse of three small bruises on her thigh and she leaned down to look at them. They looked like… _Oh…_ She fondly recalled the night she shared with Ulfric and ran her fingertips over the bruises.

She collapsed onto the bed, her eyes sliding shut with ease. She was going to sleep very, very well.

* * *

Ulfric lay in bed restlessly – he had been unable to sleep and had no one else to blame but himself. The meeting with the Nobles took almost everything out of him. Every smile, every joke, every charming word that left his mouth was forced. He didn't care about what they had to offer because he didn't need it.

After they left he had gone to his room and slept for a good several hours, trying to force thoughts of Ophelia from his mind. He woke wide eyed and bushy tailed and ready to take on the world, only to find out that it was in the late evening and everyone was getting ready for bed.

He wandered around the Palace for some time before retreating back to his room for hope of more sleep, which didn't come to him. He groaned and sat up, jumping from the bed to the floor and leaving his room. The Guards watched with puzzled expressions as he walked down to the war room with haste. He was so bored it made his head ache.

Once in the war room he looked over the map. When his commanders were there earlier that day they had plotted out potential weak points in which the Thalmor might try to attack when the time came and also worked out emergency trade and evacuation routes. It was all fairly standard, but interesting to review nonetheless.

As he hovered over the table and sifted through the paperwork, letters and maps, his mind was trained on the Thalmor. He wasn't stupid, he knew that the whole point of the Civil War was to divide and conquer but he knew it was for the best that Skyrim and the Empire cut ties before this war. The Thalmor saw it as weakness but he viewed it as an unexpected strength.

Nationalism would be the key to this victory. The unity of men from all of Tamriel would come soon, but for now, nationalistic pride should be the driving force against the Dominion.

He sighed, looking over the flags that at one point in time were red. His union with Ophelia would surely cause uproar all over Tamriel. She is the Dragonborn – of the blood of Tiber Septim – and she is marrying someone of the likes of him. They would be the face of the rebellion against the Thalmor; they would rule and fight together under a new banner for the sake of Skyrim.

The door from the main hall opened and his eyes darted up to the intruder. Wuunferth stepped into the room and was taken aback by Ulfric's presence.

"Jarl Ulfric! What keeps you up at this hour?"

Ulfric smiled, "there's much to do and little time to do it."

"Surely you know it's not good for your health." Wuunferth chided and walked over to the table where several books lie, looking over them carefully.

Ulfric watched him, "what are you doing up at this hour?"

"I'm a night owl, you know this!" The old man laughed softly and flipped through the pages of one particular book, "I am studying, if you must know. I've come across something rather interesting about the Dragonborn."

This caught the Jarls attention and he was suddenly apt, "what about Stormblade?"

"When she came to me the other night with her wound, I cleaned it for her and healed her but when she left and I was cleaning up where she had bled on the floor and on the work station, I noticed a few interesting things about her blood."

Wuunferth saw the way Ulfric's brow furrowed deeply out of concern and the old man smiled, "I don't think there's anything wrong, do not fret. I am just reading to see if anyone else in history has made these observations about pervious Dragonborn."

"What are these interesting characteristics about her blood?" Ulfric walked over to the old man and peeked over his shoulder at the book he held in his hands. Wuunferth's smile disappeared and he closed the book.

"Her blood is highly acidic and resistant to most poisons – much like a dragons. Nothing of consequence, I assure you."

"Why is this so interesting?"

"For a long time it was assumed that a Dragonborn was a human avatar of a dragon. They had a similar spirit and magic capabilities. Physically, they are just as human as you and I. However, her blood proves otherwise."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Wuunferth inhaled deeply, "that the Dragonborn might – and may I emphasis _might_ – have certain characteristics like dragons. For instance, she might have immunity to certain diseases that dragons are immune to. She might have the same gestation period as a dragon. She might have the same appetite patterns. There's a whole multitude of things that she might experience. Until I do more studying and actually speak with her about it, this is all… conjecture."

"Huh," Ulfric was at a loss for words. This didn't faze him all too much but wrapping his mind around it would take some time. It was confusing.

"If I find anything that could potentially be adverse, I will contact you about it immediately, I assure you." Wuunferth's smile was warm but it was forged. Ulfric had known him for far too long to fall for his deflection, but he let it go. He had to trust that the Wizard would stay true to his word and come to him if anything was wrong.

He returned the smile and nodded his head, "very well."

Wuunferth shuffled to the door but paused before leaving, "Ulfric?"

Ulfric looked up from the table that he had returned to, "yes?"

"May I accompany you to Whiterun for the trapping of the dragon?"

"Of course." Ulfric nodded, staring at the table once more.

"Thank you, my lord. Sleep well." Wuunferth shut the door behind himself softly, leaving Ulfric alone once more to deliberate his next course of action drowsily.

* * *

**Never had I met a man who stared death in the face with a smile until that fateful day in Kvatch. He was beautiful – inside and out. His devout nature was endearing enough but what drew me to him was his subtle salutation of sin.**

**He wasn't afraid to admit that he himself had snapped up by jaws of a Daedra. It was never a matter of shame but rather of growth. Like many young folk, he had been lured into the dangerous corruption we viewed as adventurous and fun.**

**It may have taken him awhile to admit it to me, but his voice never faltered, his eyes never left mine. He made himself into a book for me to read. And read I did. He never avoided me and in fact invited my probing. It was refreshing to meet someone with such –**

"Ophelia!"

Ophelia flinched at the loud shout that nearly made her ears ring and put Iszara's journal flat on the table, "what?"

"Have you seen my glass sw- Oh! Never mind! I found it!" Lydia called from upstairs and Ophelia huffed, looking back to the book and trying to continue.

However, her companion's noisy foot falls down the steps distracted her. She shut the book and threw it into her knapsack, closing the bag quickly and standing to meet her housecarl.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes!" Lydia was abnormally cheery and it irritated Ophelia. She knew it was the first time she would be taking Lydia out on an adventure in a while but the eagerness was something Ophelia didn't like to deal with at sunrise.

Lydia's smile faded as she noticed her Thane's frown, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Didn't sleep well." It was a lie. Ophelia didn't remember a thing once she made it upstairs and woke feeling fairly well rested by sunrise. She didn't know why she wasn't feeling well, but she didn't care to know the reason behind it. She had work to do.

"Let's get going." She muttered and walked past her companion and opened the door. The scent of wet grass filled her nose and it gave her a pleasant chill. It had rained the night before, she noted as she looked around at the soaked cobblestone and overcast sky.

The two women walked out of the city together, dressed in full combat gear. Ophelia had woken Lydia and told her about the girl that had gone missing. Lydia accepted the quest joyfully but took forever getting ready.

Ophelia kept her mouth shut, the only thing on her mind being the retrieval of the girl and going home for more sleep. Her perpetual sleepiness was becoming concerning but there was honestly nothing she could do about it other than wait whatever was wrong out.

"So tell me about you and Ulfric."

"Shh." Ophelia quickly hushed her friend and raised an eyebrow, "no one else knows yet."

"Oh – sorry." The other woman apologized with a whisper, "we need to give him a secret name – something no one would know!"

Lydia's merriment was grating to Ophelia and sighed exasperatedly, "I don't know… U? Just the letter? Storm?"

"How about Bear? Or Bear Junior!" Lydia laughed and clasped her hands together in a girlish manner, "I mean, his father was called a Bear, so why not him?"

Ophelia fought off the giggle that bubbled up and shrugged, "I guess we could call him Bear."

"Right then," Lydia made a silly motion with her hand, "how is your engagement to Bear going?"

"Pretty good, I suppose."

"I'm sorry in advance because I know this is deemed very inappropriate but I have to ask –"

Ophelia cut her off with a chuckle, "everything is fine in that department, don't concern yourself over it."

Lydia's face contorted to confusion, "really? I mean, he is... what… fifty five or something?"

"He's fifty one."

"Ah… that would make sense. He is awfully handsome, though. If I were as old as you, I would go for it."

Ophelia gawked, "as old as me? What are you insinuating?"

"I'm insinuating that I'm only in my twenties but you're already in your thirties." Lydia teased with a tinge of seriousness.

All of a sudden, Ophelia was painfully aware of her age. It never occurred to her to be worried about it – she was thirty-two. Not exactly the right stage to be marrying and planning out children, but not unheard of. Anxiousness returned to her and she sighed ruefully at the reality of her oldness.

Silence overtook the two as they walked leisurely to the house that belonged to Freya – the mother of the girl that went missing. The sun was raised by the time they neared it and a woman around Ophelia's age stepped out to tend to her chickens.

"Pardon, ma'am? Are you Freya?" Ophelia hailed as they approached her.

The woman, dressed in shabby work clothes and with deep, dark circles under her eyes looked up to Ophelia and forced a smile, "how can I help you?"

"Ma'am, I'm here on behalf of your son. He told us that your daughter was missing and you needed assistance to help find her."

The woman went pale and she clenched her jaw. Ophelia kept her distance, as she knew from firsthand experience that parents who lose children one way or another aren't the most levelheaded people to deal with.

Her bloodshot eyes glazed over and she finally spoke, her voice tense, "I am thankful you are here. But I'm afraid I have no money to pay you for such—"

"I'm not going to charge you anything." Ophelia's consolation seemed to make Freya relax a bit and she sniffled, looking out into the fields behind her.

"She is only twelve. She worked for some coin at Battle-Born farm and one day she never came home. No one saw anything. I looked through the nearby wood for her but couldn't find her." The woman was on the verge of tears, making Ophelia's stomach twinge. It was painful to watch.

"What were – are – her interests?" Ophelia nearly winced at her slip up but kept a calm face. Freya didn't seem to notice.

"She enjoyed animals, taking care of them and feeding them. She liked to collect plants and rocks – little bits of precious metals…" Freya shook with a sob and Ophelia desperately wanted to physically console her but knew better. Entanglements can lead to severe disappointment in fragile times.

"My housecarl and I will begin looking immediately." Ophelia assured her and began backing away with Lydia.

Once some distance away from the house, Ophelia looked to Lydia, "any ideas?"

Lydia chewed on the inside of her lip before answering, "maybe she's in a mine nearby? Her mother said she enjoyed collecting metals and rock. Maybe she went to get some and fell in."

Ophelia scoffed, "what kind of little girl goes into a cave willingly?"

"More than you would think," Lydia retorted shortly, "what, you never got curious and went into places you weren't supposed to when you were little?"

"It's not like I had much of a choice. I was always travelling and working – not much time to go cave exploring. Although, I've noticed that the older I get the more often I find myself doing it." The thinly veiled complaint was met with another chortle as the two walked along the path to no determined destination.

"There's a mine not terribly far from here. I guess we'll give it a look." Ophelia conceded in a hushed tone as they passed by a group of travelers. Lydia nodded and the two quickened their pace to a run.

Once past the tree-line of the nearby forest, Ophelia pulled her bow from her back and drew an arrow, silently motioning for Lydia to do the same. The housecarl imitated her actions as the two crept along a worn path in the forest.

Every time Ophelia found herself in a forest like this she was instantly reminded of her time at Weynon Priory. No matter the season, the woods of the outer reserve were beautiful and rampant with wildlife. A doe far within the trees spotted them and took off noisily, alerting Ophelia. Her eyes found it and she stopped in her tracks as it took off into the forest.

She eyed the surrounding area before closing her eyes and inhaled sharply before whispering, "laas yah nir."

Once she opened her eyes, shapes of pink invaded her sight from varying distances. She didn't like using that shout often, as it make her depth perception off, but she was familiar enough with the elongated shapes not too far off to her right to know that the mine was there.

She motioned for Lydia to follow and they crept off of the path into the thicket. Every step Ophelia took was soundless as she maneuvered around a particularly large tree to get a look at whoever was in front of the cave.

Bandits – three of them. She motioned Lydia forward with three fingers and pointed to the other side of the tree. Lydia nodded in understanding and drew an arrow, taking point on the other side of the tree. Ophelia drew hers and leaned around the corner, aiming at one of the bandit's heads. She released the arrow and it hit the man, lodging into his skull and knocking him back into the entrance of the cave lifelessly.

Lydia's arrow hit the other man in the throat and he fell to the ground, bleeding out voicelessly. The last bandit stood with his axe drawn and scanned the trees for any sign of life with a disgusting snarl on his face. Suddenly, another one of Lydia's arrows whipped through the silent serenity of the forest and took him out.

With all three dead, the two women moved forward and investigated the makeshift camp in front of the cave. Ophelia looted the bodies while Lydia checked the surrounding area for traps. Once they both finished, they drew arrows and made their way into the cave.

The two had always worked well together, which is why Ophelia favored having Lydia with her rather than other people. Lydia was talkative and perhaps a bit difficult to deal with, but she was loyal and clever. Their synergy was remarkable.

The dark entrance of the cave was humid and wreaked of death and mildew. The smells nearly make Ophelia gag but she stopped herself short of doing it and slid her cowl up over her nose. Lydia seemed unaffected by it but curled her lip from disgust at their surroundings.

The cave was clearly small, as there was only one small, short passageway that broke into two which ultimately looped around to each other. Lydia and Ophelia took their time through the cave, seeing off traps and killing pests along the way. As they moved through the darkness, Ophelia used her Aura Whisper shout once more and saw that in the far end of the cave were more people. Two standing, one pacing, and three sitting.

She turned to Lydia, "there are at least six up there."

The housecarl nodded and they both swiftly crawled down the decline of the wet ground and came to a halt once outside of the clear opening that these souls were in. Ophelia peeked in, the first thing catching her eye being two crudely made cages in the middle of the room with three figures sitting pathetically in each. Her stomach sank. That meant this place was one of three things – a slave keep, a necromancer's keep, or a torture chamber. None of which ever sat well with her.

She began to shake slightly as two figures walked over to the cages and leaned down, saying something. As they reached for the handle of the cage door, Ophelia drew and arrow and let it fly. It took one out and the other drew its sword, coming towards the entry way that Ophelia was strategically hidden behind. The other one that was pacing followed it.

Lydia drew and killed the one that was marching angrily towards the door and Ophelia took out the last. Once silence reached her ears, Ophelia closed her eyes again, "laas yah."

The kept the shout short for sake of time and her sight and took a good look around. She and Lydia were the only ones besides the three in the cages. One stood up, looking to the entryway.

A dainty voice called out from behind the bars, "hello? Who's there?"

Ophelia was about to respond but realized that the voice belonged to a child – a little boy, no older than seven. Anger boiled within her – who would hurt a child? What monster would do this? She calmed herself as best as she could and brought herself to her feet, casting mage light over the whole area and pulling down her cowl. The boy squinted at the light but a smile shone on his face as she approached with Lydia.

"We're here to help you."

"Thank the nine!" The child cried from the cage and turned to tap the other ones shoulder, "Eva, wake up."

The name caught Ophelia's attention and she turned to Lydia with a smile before kneeling at the cage door and unlocking it. When it opened, the little boy turned to look at her with a bright smile before shaking the young girl who slept hard in the corner.

"Lydia, release the other one," Ophelia ordered as she tossed Lydia her lock pick. Lydia nodded and began working on the other cage while Ophelia leaned down next to Eva.

The girl was filthy and her clothes ripped in various places, "Eva?" Ophelia placed a hand on the young girls head and rubbed slightly. As she came to, she smiled in a silly manner.

"You sound nice."

Ophelia swallowed thickly, "we're going to take you home. Are you injured?"

"Just a little." She cringed as Ophelia helped her stand.

The little boy chimed in, "can you take me back to my home, too?"

"Of course, I'm taking all three of you home! Where do you live, darling?"

"In Riverwood."

"All right. I'll get you there as quickly as I can, but first we need to get you all some food and healed up."

Lydia picked up the last figure and stepped out of the cage. Ophelia walked over and took a look at him. He was no older than fifteen and clearly very ill. She had seen atrocities far worse than this but this shook her to her core. How lucky she was that she never was subjected to this.

"Come on," she called to all of them, thankful that it was too dark for them to see the tears that threatened to spill, "let's get out of here."

* * *

As Ulfric went about his daily duties with great exhaustion, he noticed an odd air about the people around him. Galmar had avoided conversation with him all day and Jorleif was nowhere to be found. Yrsarald returned with news that the Thalmor had been found but escaped from their grasp, across the border into Cyrodiil.

In the late afternoon, Jorleif finally appeared in the war room, his face flushed and panicked. He grabbed Ulfric's arm and led the man out of the war room and into the quarter's corridor. He questioned what the other man was doing several times but was not given an answer until Jorleif ushered him into his quarters.

"Agatha is on her way back here right now."

Ulfric's face contorted from confusion to dread as he shook his head meagerly, "no. Tell her I'm busy."

"I can't. Galmar already gave her the okay to come back here."

Ulfric ground his teeth together, "that son of a bitch."

Both of their heads shot to the door when a knock interrupted them. Ulfric's nerves were on edge as Jorleif slowly moved to the door to open it. As it opened, the slender Nord was pushed out of the way rudely by the short figure that lingered on the other side and Ulfric backed up slowly.

"You!" A single frail finger come forward and hovered right in front of his face. He closed his eyes, awaiting a slap that never came.

He opened them hesitantly. Jorleif had left and shut the door and now he was left in the room with an elderly woman dressed for travel. He offered her a small smile but her expression of anger didn't crack.

"Mother." He tried to push her hand down but she did not move. Seventy-four and stubborn as ever.

"You haven't written me or your brother, you haven't stopped by in Divines know how long. You disappeared last year when the dragons turned up and next I hear, you defeated the Empire and are up for high King?" Her grey eyes narrowed treacherously and he was suddenly reminded of how much she frightened him. It wasn't a burden, dealing with her – it was a near-death experience.

"I didn't wish to bother you. I knew you had a lot going on as well so I figured you didn't want to hear about my affairs." He defended meekly, moving away from her and to the table in his room, pulling out a chair for her.

She pulled her cloak off and hung it up by the door while her voice cut into him, "your affairs are damn well my business. Are you really going for the Throne?"

"Yes, I am – "

"How are you expecting to become a king if you have no queen or heirs? You're fifty-one!"

He knew she would go there and he clenched his fists as he sat down across from her. "Trust me; I'm very much aware of this."

"If you want to secure this throne, you have to take initiative! Find a woman, get married and have as many children as possible before the moot, or else you don't stand a chance." Strict and threatening, her statement hit him hard. He felt as if he was a child again.

"Mother…"

"Ulfric, I will not hear another word about this. I've waited too long for our legacy to continue." Her admission wasn't surprising. For the past thirty years it popped up in every one of their discussions – _Have children! You don't want to die alone! "_Your bothers children are already fighting in this war. Your sister never offered any damn assistance – divines rest her soul."

"Don't speak of Ursa as if she's dead. She's alive and well." He grunted and offered her a goblet of wine. She took it and cradled it in her hands, glaring at him.

"She is dead to me. She sealed her fate when your father passed."

"Mother… Have faith in me when I say that there is no reason to worry."

"Pft! I'll stop worrying the day that you quit this foolishness."

"What foolishness?" Ulfric found great difficulty in keeping his voice low. His relationship with his mother was fairly typical but Gods was she an intrusive woman at times. It grew worse with age, he noticed.

"This wandering around, not even taking part in an actual campaign. You are aware of the fact that some of the Jarls will fight you tooth and nail, yes? How will you win them over? You live by the sword, son, much like your father but it's time you learn you can't hack your way into Kingship. It calls for tactic - strategy!" He observed her as she sipped her wine with discontent.

She would know all about political schemes, after all. She was Agatha Stormcloak, the wife of the late Bear of Eastmarch, and previous political advisor to the late Istlod, former High King of Skyrim. She was always conspiratorial.

"I'm waiting for the Dragonborn to take care of Alduin before I make any move. The moot will be useless if the dragons have their way."

The older woman groaned from exasperation, throwing her hand up in the air dramatically. "I'm so tired of hearing about this Dragonborn drivel. Just let the man kill his dragons in peace."

"Woman."

"Pardon?" Her eyebrows rose inquisitively.

"The Dragonborn is a woman. A woman you know, nonetheless."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The Dragonborn is Ophelia Highlander – Ingvar Highlander's daughter."

A shocked gasp came from her as she placed the goblet down, "really?"

"Yes." He sighed and ran a hand down his face. He didn't sleep at all the night before and his mother's visit made him more fatigued than he already was.

Neither of them spoke a word for several moments and she looked into her wine contemplatively, "why not her?"

This caught the Jarl's attention, "hm?"

"Why not marry her? Ingvar and Sif were a lovely couple, I couldn't possibly imagine her being ugly or hard to deal with. She's also the Dragonborn. Oh, that would be fantastic!" She tapped the table with her fingers, a smile gracing her features.

Ulfric was at a loss for words and she noticed this, "what's wrong, son?"

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, "I _am_ engaged to her." The words left his lips with surprising ease. Revealing his secret to someone finally made him feel as if a weight was off his shoulders.

His mother's expression quickly faded to suspicion. "This isn't a joke or a lie, correct?"

He stared at the dark wood-grain of the table intensely, "no, it isn't. We spent quite a bit of time together while she helped my cause. After we took Solitude she… proposed the idea to me."

"She came to you?" Agatha asked with an astonished grin and Ulfric nodded, "I like that."

"You like what?" He asked when she nodded appreciatively.

"A woman with initiative."

Ulfric laughed, "She has initiative. Perhaps too much. She's a very head strong woman."

"History seldom remembers quiet, obedient Queens." She shrugged and leaned back, "You will be a couple to remember… She must be about thirty, am I correct?"

"She's thirty-two."

"Good. She can still bear children." Agatha smiled pleasantly and placed a hand over her son's, "I'm still angry with you for not contacting me, but I am proud of you."

The compliment took Ulfric by surprised and he looked down at her hand that was clasped over his with slight confusion. He had been planning on telling his mother, but not until he was sure it was safe. One wrong slip up and the Thalmor could take anyone of his loved ones without a problem. The weakness frightened him but he tried not to dwell on it, instead taking measures to avoid the possibility of a slip up.

"You mustn't tell anyone." He affirmed, making eye contact with his still smiling mother.

"Of course not, darling." She leaned in and placed a kiss upon his forehead before returning to her spot, "Now… When do I get to meet her?"

* * *

Ophelia, Lydia and the children they rescued all sat around a fire and eating game that Ophelia had hunted. They hadn't left the cave two hours prior but Lydia wanted them to rest, eat something and let Ophelia heal them as best as she could before they would return them home.

It didn't do a parent well to see their children harmed, Lydia had whispered harshly to Ophelia as she hastily hurried them out of the cave. The whole situation was perturbing, to say the least. After a small interrogation, Eva had revealed to Ophelia and Lydia what had happened.

A bandit had come by Battle-Born farm everyday she had been working to speak to her. She thought he was a traveler and was charmed by his friendliness. Soon, he began taking her into the forest to teach her how to hunt. He was older, so she didn't tell her mother out of fear of reproach. He never tried anything, but one day lured her to the cave, where Landen, the older boy, was already being held. The youngest one, Seamus, arrived last and was there for the shortest amount of time.

All of them had similar stories. A young traveler comes and sweeps them off their feet in promise of adventure and fun. Soon, they wake up in a cage and are being watched constantly. Ophelia racked her brain. None of them had been hurt besides beatings, which they only experienced if they tried to scream of escape. None of their captors tried to use them for anything sinister. There was no talk or hints of them being sold into labor.

The only clue that Ophelia had was that one day Eva heard the bandit's reference someone only called The Elm. The name and term rang no bells but she did not concern herself with it at the moment. It would be for another time. As Lydia tended to the children and laughed with them merrily, Ophelia glared out into the field with fortitude. If being raised by a Khajiit had taught her anything, it was the sole importance of children. Whenever she came across a person who harmed children she would deal with them ruthlessly. She always made a point to.

"Ophelia," Lydia appeared next to her, "Landen is awake. He has essentially the same story as the rest. I think it's about time for us to take them home."

Ophelia looked over her shoulder at the three children that ate venison gleefully and smirked, "good job."

Lydia's face contorted from confusion and Ophelia smiled at her friend, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you did a really good job today. Good thinking on the cave."

Ophelia was a very proud woman and it took a lot out of her to admit that someone else was right when she was in the wrong, nonetheless compliment them. Lydia knew this and gave her Thane a thankful pat on the back before walking back to the children, happily telling them to get ready to go home.

The sun was setting over the plane and as Ophelia peered out over the fields once more she was overwhelmed with a strange sensation. She was thankful that they were lucky enough to find the children but something stirred deep within her. It was anger, a deep seeded anger that she had never experienced before.

It was an adrenaline rush to the head, liquid fire reaching a boiling point in her stomach. Whispers of dragon tongue that she couldn't quite understand rang painfully in her head. She shook her head in an attempt to stop them and walked over to the group.

"Landen, where do you live?" Ophelia asked him tenderly, squatting down next to him.

"I live in Rorikstead." He winced as he spoke the words, the side of his face terribly swollen.

"I'll take him home," Lydia offered, "You can take Seamus and Eva back to their homes."

Ophelia nodded affirmatively, "get Lady from the stable and take her – she's the fastest."

Lydia picked Landen up gingerly as Ophelia looked to the two children that waited behind her patiently, "Eva, I'll take you home first – Seamus, I'll take you home last, okay?"

The two children nodded but didn't say anything. She motioned for them to follow as they left the tree line and walked along the cobblestone road. They all walked in silence to Freya's house, Seamus occasionally laughing at some silly thing or another. Ophelia, only half present, laughed along with him and tried to think of Ulfric to quell the burning that remained pertinent inside of her.

Once at the porch of Freya's house, Eva darted up and knocked on the door, a cheeky smile on her face as she did so. Ophelia kept Seamus on the road with her and watched.

"Ophelia," Seamus tugged at her hand. She glanced down. "Can you carry me?"

She leaned down and picked him up by his waist, hoisting him up on her hip to watch the exchange about to take place. Freya opened the door hesitantly and her eyes cast downward to see her daughter. Her mouth opened and she threw the door open, dropping to her knees and embracing her daughter. As the two hugged, Ophelia bore witness to it with intrigue, feeling the boy she carried rest his head on her shoulder.

When Freya caught glimpse of Ophelia she smiled and bowed her head, shouting thanks to her. Ophelia nodded and looked to Seamus, "are you ready to go home?"

He picked his head up from her shoulder and nodded, the gap between his two front teeth showing proudly with his smile. She grinned back and began walking down the south road to Riverwood.

Their journey to the small town stead was quick and easy as Seamus talked her ear off about how the dragon he saw one day and how he once saved his dog from a mud crab by valiantly picking it up and tossing it into the river. Ophelia feigned interest in his stories because although she was amused and endeared by them, she had other things on her mind. The purpose of kidnapping these children was lost on her.

"Have you ever seen a dragon?" He asked all of a sudden and poked her in the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, I've seen loads of dragons." She answered straightforwardly. Trying to hold a conversation with a child was a peculiar endeavor. She was far more practiced in speaking with senseless politicians, salty soldiers and nasty dragons.

His face brightened with a huge grin and he began wiggling in her arms, a sign to be put down, she figured and she placed him on the ground.

They resumed walking and he continued his inquiring, "Have you ever fought any?"

"I fought a lot of them. I'm afraid it's my job." She muttered with slight discontent and he gasped, stopping in his tracks.

"You're a Dragon hunter?"

She stopped and shrugged with a slight smile, enjoying the title, "I supposed you can call me that."

"That…" he paused, putting up his tiny hands for emphasis, "is _amazing_!"

"Have you ever been bit by a dragon?"

"Have you ever seen someone get eaten by one?"

"What does dragon skin feel like?"

The questions he bombarded with were numerous and surprisingly difficult to answer. However, she did so with fervor and perhaps a little embellishment.

"I want to be a dragon hunter when I get older." He dreamily said as he picked up a stick and swung it around playfully, hitting Ophelia in her knee. She winced at the contact and he dropped it immediately, his eyes wide with fear and remorse, "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay!" She laughed it off and rubbed her now sore kneecap, "let's keep going, little guy."

They made it to the town within the hour and as they approached the gate, a guard greeted them enthusiastically.

"Dragonborn!" He hailed with a wave, his brogue thick.

"Well met," Ophelia responded as the boy took her hand. The guard did a double take at the little boy.

"Seamus?"

"Hi!" The boy smiled proudly at the guard.

The guard put his hands on his hips, "where have you been, child? You're mother has been worried sick."

Ophelia spoke for the boy, "he was kidnapped and kept nearby. No harm was done to him. May I advise that people around here keep an eye on their young ones? He wasn't the only one that I found."

The guard shook his head, "of course. What times we live in..."

"Indeed," Ophelia peeked over the guard's shoulder, "I would like to take him back to his parents and speak with them. Where do they live?"

The guard turned and extended his arm, pointing at a small house nestled in the corner of the village. She nodded her head and thanked him, letting Seamus walk her to it, his tiny hand clasped firmly around her own. She smiled down at the boy, amused by the youthful delight he exhibited.

"My da's a Stormcloak. My ma grows stuff and sends it to Whiterun." He pointed towards the old dog that lay lazily on the porch of his house, "that's Old man. He's our dog. He's really old."

Once at the door, Ophelia reached up and knocked politely. Old Man came over to investigate her and the boy, his tail wagging slowly. She reached down to pet him and the door opened. A younger woman peered out of the door and she nearly glared at Ophelia.

"Ma!" Seamus called from below and both of the woman looked down. His mother then threw open the door and picked up the young boy with fervor.

"Seamus!" She called his name with joy as they hugged. Ophelia took a step back, admiring the scene before her with pride. The two exchanged their overdue greetings and the woman looked to Ophelia with slight speculation.

"Who are you?" The roughness of her tone wasn't one Ophelia expected to hear but she brushed it off as best as she could. As she was about to introduce herself, Seamus interrupted.

"This is Ophelia, she saved me and Landen and Eva and she's a dragon hunter."

The two women looked at him with amusement before Ophelia began slowly, "I'm the Dragonborn. I found your boy in a cave not too far from Whiterun. It appears as if he was kidnapped."

Seamus wiggled into the doorway his mother blocked silently and disappeared into the home. Ophelia looked back up to his mother. She was younger than Ophelia – around twenty-five or so. Much like Freya, dark circled marred underneath her eyes from a clear lack of sleep. Ophelia couldn't imagine what the disappearance of a child must do to a mother.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Although, I do have a question," Ophelia prefaced carefully, as she could tell his mother was in no mood for a friendly discussion, "do you have any clue as to why someone might want to harm your child? Is there any outstanding debt or any person conflicts?"

The woman shook her head vehemently, "nothing of the sort." She left it at that and began backing into her house, taking the door with her, "thank you, once more. I must go tend to Seamus."

The standoffish nature of the woman irked Ophelia to no end. However, there was not much to be done about it. The child was safe, and that's all that mattered to her. Ophelia nodded her head and watched as the door closed.

What strange behavior, she thought as she took her leave from the small house. She steadily left the town and followed the path back home, her head aching from the thoughts that raced through them. The odd feeling that flared up inside of her returned with great force and she nearly staggered from the sensation. The blaze inside of her was carnal and vicious. Her limbs twitched with the desire to do something but she couldn't figure out what it was. It took all of her will power to remain alert on the return to Whiterun and to not writhe on the ground out of physical frustration.

Tonight, she was going to drink herself into a stupor for her own sanity.

* * *

_Every step she took shook the ground beneath her with ferocity. It broke and scorched the already cracked dirt below her feet. Around her it was barren. A dead tree, a dried lake, rocks fractured by the cruelty of time._

_She looked at herself in the reflection of the sky and saw what she truly is. Her breath is fire and frost. Her words are the essence of supremacy. She is destruction. She is death. She is the nightmare that haunts kings and graces the tongues of bards as they sing of a bygone era._

_She takes one wrong step and falls into the endless void of nothingness that she knew was always there but avoided. Yet she isn't alone. Not at all._

"_Dovahkiin."_

_The voice is deep – penetrating her skin and making her heart reverberate the term. She opens her mouth to speak to the disembodied voice but procures nothing. Her speech was lost in the void. Falling ten heads above – or below her, just out of her reach._

"_Dovahkiin… hin smoliin fah joorre fen ag hio."_

_**Dragonborn… your passion for mortals will burn you.**_

_The voice rumbled agreeably but with great menace underlying it._

"_Hio kos se faal lok."_

_**You are of the sky.**_

_The deep bass echoing through her chest becomes uncomfortable, and a deep, hot wind brushes against her perpetually falling form. Her breath quickens considerably as panic sets in._

"_Bo nol se golt ahkr aav faal hin dov zeymah!"_

_**Fly from the ground and join your dragon brothers!**_

_The rumbling bursts into a shout – thunder clapping with the words of a dead language. She tries to cover her ears but to no avail. She opens her mouth to scream but nothing comes out. All of a sudden her fall halts and she hovers in the void. With an eruption of another thunder clap, her body is soon consumed by fire. Red hot flame licks at her limbs excruciatingly and she throws her head back, trying to shout._

"_Zu fen kron hio."_

_**I will conquer you.**_

_The rumbling resounded in her ears agonizingly and above her suspended form came Alduin's great maw – grinning viciously._

_She shouted then – suddenly and powerfully – and it was all gone. The once eerie darkness provides her with peace and serenity. She inhales and exhales slowly, her chest heaving from the unreal experience she just had._

_As calm washes over her body, she feels pleasurable warmth deep within her grow._

"_Praan Dovahkiin."_

_**Rest Dovahkiin.**_

_The words offer comfort and she takes it gratefully. The voice has no face but is eternally familiar to her nonetheless. She loves that beloved voice._

"_Siiv hin drem."_

_**Find your peace.**_

* * *

Ophelia woke serenely in her bed. She was thoroughly relaxed. Although startled by the dream and the recent events, she felt at peace. The irritating burning inside of her had finally ceased and the daze she had been in faded with it. She may have been hung-over – but at least she felt ordinary again.

After some time lounging on her bed like a lazy sabre cat, she jumped up and stretched her arms with a loud groan. Her stomach growled and ached for food and she quickly dressed herself in an attempt to satiate her increasing hunger.

Once dressed, she strong armed the door open and darted down the stairs. The hearth was already lit and the house very clean. However, she saw no sign of her Housecarl. On the table next to the door, she spotted a small note with a neatly written message on it.

Ophelia,

Went out to run errands – won't be back until this evening.

-Lydia

Ophelia smirked at the thought of having the house all to herself and joyfully shuffled into the kitchen where she fixed herself a plate full of food and a goblet of water. After she gathered her food she quickly darted back up the stairs where she retreated to her room.

As much as she enjoyed being a civilized adult, she still enjoyed nothing more than eating food in the comfort of her bed while reading. It was a tradition with Sariba but was looked down upon when she lived in Weynon Priory. The High Elves constantly told her that food belonged in the kitchen and nowhere else. It was a strange thing – Altmer etiquette.

She closed the door behind her with a kick of her foot and quickly set the plate of sweet rolls and chicken on the bed. With a quick look around the room she spotted the bag that held the journal she had recently taken to reading again. She snatched it and threw it on the bed next to the plate and took a large swig from the goblet she held in her hand.

As she began eating the chicken and flipping through the pages of the journal to figure out where she was last, a knock from downstairs caught her ear. She froze and waited in silence for another knock. When it came, she groaned and swung her feet off the bed, grabbing a sweet roll and stuffing half of it into her mouth before leaving the room. She ran down the steps and swung open the door quickly.

"Ophelia." Her brother stood on her stoop with a bottle of mead in one hand and the other waving at her.

Ophelia froze and swallowed the remainder of her sweet roll with difficulty, coughing as it went down slowly. _What in oblivion…_

She coughed with a hand covering her mouth, "what are you doing here?"

Leiv pushed her inside of the home gently and walked past her. The disrespect of the action was evident but alas, there was nothing she could do. She closed the door and spun around to face him.

"What a quaint little home. How much did it cost?" Sarcasm dripped from his honeyed voice and she scowled.

"Don't be mean." She walked around him and sat down in one of the chairs with a lack of grace that caused him to chuckle.

"I'm not mean," he held out the bottle of mead to her and she took it hesitantly, looking over it, "it was very expensive. I figured it was the least I could do after nearly killing your fiancé."

She read the label and her eyebrows raised considerably. "Hm. Thanks."

He nodded politely and his eyes darted to the kitchen, "do you mind? I travelled all night to get here and I'm famished."

She scoffed, "of course you want food. Have at it." The dismissal caused him to smile and he walked to the kitchen area and took bits and pieces of food that lay around.

While he was away, Ophelia took the bottle of mead and opened it as quietly as she could, sniffing the contents quickly before shutting it again. It wasn't poisoned. She could never be too careful with Leiv. Her distrust wasn't something that was purely based on speculation, either. He had poisoned her – albeit nonfatal poison – during an encounter in Riften. He was trying to take someone out that she had been hired to protect. They both found themselves at odds since they couldn't bring themselves to kill each other and after many hijinks and a fist fight, went their separate ways.

"You seriously didn't check that for poison, did you?" He laughed at her as he returned, taking a seat across from her.

She turned her nose up defensively. "Don't feign innocence – I still can't trust you."

"And I can't trust you!" He countered as he began eating.

She watched hungrily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You stabbed me, robbed me – "

"I didn't know it was you!"

"Of course you didn't." He rolled his eyes and continued eating, "bitch."

Ophelia laughed loudly at the insult, "Seriously, that's what you resort to? Assassins and your easy ways out. Divines forbid you have to put an effort into anything."

"At least I didn't resort to fucking a usurper to gain a crown!" He sang the insult lightheartedly but it metaphorically slapped Ophelia across the face. Placing a hand underneath the plate he balanced carefully, she tipped it, spilling the food onto his lap. He froze in place and looked at her.

Her smile contorted into a snarl and she sat the mead down onto the floor, leaning in close to her brother. "Apologies… What was that?"

Leiv brushed to food onto the floor and mimicked her actions, leaving him a few inches away from her, "Perhaps I should put simply for you: you're an opportunistic, power-hungry whore who has successfully fucked her way into the possession of a crown."

"Get out."

"No."

Ophelia felt heated as she began to stand, leaning over her brother, "I said get out."

"I said no."

"Fus!" The shockwave of the shout sent Leivs chair sliding several inches backwards and he caught himself before it tipped backwards. Unnerving stillness fell over them and he stood, his expression never changing.

"Ophelia, I'm going to pretend that never happened and you're lucky I am – because the Dominion offered me far more money and resources than you ever could." He snarled through his teeth, "But… Because you're my dear little sister, I couldn't imagine how dark this world would be without your precious presence."

She wanted to punch him. Gods, did she want to punch him. But she couldn't. Panic set in as the gravity of the situation set in and she cursed herself for letting her pride get in the way of her plan. Her brother's insults were to be taken with a grain of salt. She knew whenever he wasn't murdering people he was trailing her around the country. He cared for her, but his personality was despicable to say the least.

"I came here to let you know that I accept your offer, as does the Night Mother." The vitriol in his voice dissipated suddenly and he grinned at her, maneuvering past her and back into the kitchen to fix more food.

Speechless, she watched him from over her shoulder. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and tried her very best to ignore the nagging sensation that haunted her from inside, "I'm… sorry for that. I haven't been feeling well, recently."

It was the truth, although it didn't really excuse her outburst. The Dragon, Ulfric, Lydia, the children, that weird fiery sense and the nightmare she had the night before… It was all so demanding on her. And while her brother was an ass, he was an ass she had to cater too right now.

Much to her surprise, he responded with a smile, "I understand. We're good."

Once he returned, she sat back down with her hands clasped in her lap, "so… how is this going to work out?"

"The Night Mother is very much aware of the fact that you're going to be involved in a war with the Thalmor soon. Good for you, because she has a nasty predisposition to the Dominion, and she's willing to lend our services to you in order to kill high ranking members of them as you please."

Ophelia nodded, "when will this be effective?"

"After the coronation. Since that will be the opportune time to send a double message to the Thalmor, it would be the best."

"Leiv, I don't feel comfortable giving out assassination orders," She admitted softly, "the Brotherhood wasn't for me because I didn't like killing without actual purpose… I don't think I'll be too keen on the idea of sending out those orders."

Leiv sat quietly for a few moments, eating his food, "if you want, I can partake in the war effort indirectly and send out the orders of assassination for those whose deaths would prove beneficial to your cause. You won't have to do anything except provide us with money and keep us a secret."

The woman stared off into the distance, "those around me will be protected, correct?"

"So long as the agreement is in place, you and yours are protected. Any hits directed towards them will be null."

She let out a sigh of relief, "very well then, I agree."

"You didn't even hear the price…" he chided softly and reached into his pocket, retrieving a small letter.

She took it from him and opened it. It wasn't too terrible at all, she noticed with further relief. Two thousand septims per month – the first payment due after the coronation. Perhaps being the Listener's sister had something to do with the discounted price…

With a nod, she handed it back to him, "I'll get it to you before the coronation date – just in case."

"Very well," he set the plate down on the floor and slipped the letter back into his coat. Crossing his arms and leaning back, he watched her.

As silence fell over them, Ophelia became entranced by her own thoughts. This was surely a deal with the devil. There was no way out of it until she was sure Leiv, for some reason or another, wouldn't touch her or the people she loved. Then again there was never a guarantee for that, so she was stuck.

A knock at the door caught their attention. Both of their head looked to it simultaneously. _Who would be visiting her now?_

"Were you planning on having any other visitors?" Leiv whispered as he began picking up the spilled food and plate.

"No," she answered quietly as she stood from her seat and grabbed the bottle of mead off of the floor. As she walked to the door, Leiv took the plate of spoiled food to the kitchen and took place leaning against the end of the table.

Ophelia set the bottle of mead down on the table next to the door before opening it. The brightness of the outside made her eyes hurt but as her vision adjusted her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Her mouth went dry and she felt her face flush.

Ulfric Stormcloak, looking handsome in his armor, leaned against the doorway. His gaze met hers and he smiled. It was one of the rare warm smiles she had only seen once or twice. She hardly had time to react, though, as a sudden fear lurched within her. Leiv was right behind her and after what just took place, she wasn't sure if she was ready to let him meet her older brother just yet. They weren't even supposed to be here today.

"Stormblade," his deep voice rumbled as he stood and she tilted her head ever so slightly. It was then that she noticed Galmar standing behind him. She brought forth a tight smile and couldn't help the slight glance she threw over her shoulder. Surely enough, Leiv was still there. _Shit. _

Inhaling, she tried her best to smile genuinely and stepped aside for them to enter her home, "come on in!"

With a suspicious frown, Ulfric entered and Galmar followed. Once in, she closed the door behind them and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prepare for the inevitable discomfort she was about to experience.

Once she turned around, Ulfric and Galmar were staring at her brother who in turn, leered at her in an amused manner. She struggled to step forward and when she did, Ulfric shot her a look that seared through her.

She motioned first to the older men while looking at her brother, "Leiv, this is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist."

Galmar extended his hand to her brother while Ulfric never took his eyes off of her, his arms crossed almost defiantly. She wondered if he had forgotten that she had a brother, "Ulfric – Galmar, this is Leiv, my older brother."

Ulfric's face dropped and he looked almost panicked too. The two looked between each other, desperately trying to figure out what the other was trying to convey.

"Wait… Leiv… Leiv Highlander, son of Ingvar?" Galmar asked when he released her brother's hand.

Leiv nodded his head politely, "yes, sir. The one and only."

Galmar, with enlightenment flashing across his face, looked between her and her brother, his mouth open from shock. He pointed at Ophelia, "You're Ophelia Highlander?"

Ophelia meekly answered affirmatively, her eyes darting to Ulfric, who now had his hand placed over his mouth and his eyes casted down. This was absolutely nerve wracking.

"Unbelievable!" Galmar raised both of his hands in the air and began pacing the room.

"Ophelia…" The use of her actual name in front of others concerned her. He stepped in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezing, "he knows."

"What?" She pushed his hands off of her shoulders and looked to Galmar and then Ulfric, "how long have you known?!"

Galmar laughed, tears coming to his eyes, "I've known he was engaged to Ophelia Highlander for almost a week! I didn't know you were Ophelia! By the Nine, Ulfric, you must be joking!"

That hurt far more than she would ever admit. The humiliation of being laughed at was enough to make her blood boil but in front of her brother… A storm was brewing deep within her, making her throat seize up and her body feel ablaze. She looked to Ulfric – his concern was evident in his eyes but it didn't offer her any peace.

"Why is it so funny?" She demanded, her irritation growing with his noisy laughing. Ulfric tried to grab her once more and she pushed him away, marching over to Galmar until she was toe to toe with him, "what part of me being Ophelia Highlander is so _humorous_?"

"Ophe, stop." Leiv warned as he came from behind her with ease, prepared to pull her back.

"No. I want to know," she hissed through her teeth, fuming. This poor old fool had no clue.

"I mean…" Galmar tried to calm down his laughter but only made it worse, "you're… you're _you_. You're the Dragonborn! You fight and drink! I like you, lass, but you have such a reputation… if you know what I mean. You can never be High Queen!"

Ophelia snarled, her lip curled and her fist balled tightly. The fire from the night before returned as did the prickly twitch of needing to physically do something. However, as she saw red, she knew what she needed to do to satiate it.

"Fus ro!" The shout came easily to her and Galmar fell backwards and slid several feet on the floor, taking a chair with him. She smirked proudly as his laughter was replaced by a disgruntled growl and he struggled to stand. The ground beneath the house rumbled lightly with the aftershock of the shout.

Ulfric's deep laughter reached her ears and her head whipped around to glance at him. He was backing away slowly, his hands placed on his hips and a broad, goofy grin on his face.

"Galmar, you fool!" Ulfric walked over to his friend, pulling him off the ground and to his feet. Galmar looked less than pleased and refused to look at Ophelia's face. He brushed himself off and picked the chair he took with him off the floor.

Leiv picked up some incidental items that went flying with the shout, "if it makes you feel any better, she did the same to me earlier for telling a harmless joke."

"Damn, woman." Galmar grunted and finally looked at her, "I'm sorry for laughing at you, but at least punch me next time I do something stupid, okay?"

"I'll make note of it," she mumbled sarcastically and made her way to the table to grab the nice bottle of mead that Leiv had brought, trying to keep herself occupied while the tremors of her outburst still racked her. She was thankful no one noticed.

"That damn thing felt like a giant war hammer," Galmar muttered as he sat down next to Ulfric, "I do feel like you two owe me an explanation."

Ophelia poured the mead into four goblets, depleting the bottle. She found difficulty in pouring the liquid, as her hands still trembled. The blazing anger that had flare within her lulled into a numbing pulse. It was a pleasant release, although she dug deep down inside of her for answers to her inexplicable conduct. She was very much aware of her temper but she was never one to explode over something so menial.

"We decided after we took Solitude that we should marry." Ulfric had provided from behind her, "that's all there is to it."

She smiled as her back was turned. There was far more to it than that. She spun around and offered Ulfric and Galmar their goblets first, which they gladly took. She returned to the table to grab the remaining two and handed one to Leiv as she took a seat next to him.

Ulfric watched her as he sipped on his mead, mischief flashing across his features. Her spirits lifted suddenly. Was he amused by what she did? She quirked an eyebrow and he held her gaze for a long moment while Leiv and Galmar formally introduced themselves.

"I remember you when you were a babe!" Galmar shook his head as they shook hands once more, "amazing how time flies. When did you come back to Skyrim?"

"About ten years ago, now. I worked in Bruma for a long time when I was a young lad."

"Ophelia, did you come back with him?" Galmar asked in a friendly manner that was out of character. She smirked as she realized he was trying not to offend her again. Sometimes being the Dragonborn was pretty fun.

"I left Skyrim when I was an infant and didn't return until last year – when I was about to get my head chopped off."

"Ah… What do you do, boy? You a merchant or something?" Galmar hastily switched his attention back to Leiv and the two conversed about life and making a living – both of which Leiv lied blatantly about. She couldn't stand him…

After a lengthy story of his false life of forging and selling weaponry, Leiv awkwardly stood and placed his goblet down on the table, "I better get going." He extended his hand to both of the men politely before turning to his sister. He leaned down and hugged her, placing a kiss on her cheek. She was suspended apprehensively, the contact making her skin crawl.

"I will see you soon," He whispered into her ear before pulling away, "try not to shout at anyone else, alright?"

She smiled tensely, "I'll try not to. Stay safe."

He grinned back, his dark eyes void of emotion and he left quietly. Her eyes lingered on the door as he swung it shut.

She looked back to Galmar, "I'm sorry for what I did earlier. I wasn't expecting visitors today and I've been feeling well. I would have apologized sooner but… I have this weird pride when it comes to things like that. If I had to apologize in front of him, he never would have let it down." She admitted honestly, keeping all incriminating details out from it. She didn't mind if people knew that she hated her brother, but the reasons why had to remain a secret.

"It's quite all right, Ophelia." Her name sounded so off coming from him, but she took it as a good sign and smiled. He looked in between her and Ulfric before standing up, "I'll let you two have some privacy. I have to check up with the soldiers here, anyways."

"Thank you," Ulfric muttered as the man took his leave from the house, "I'll come fetch you once I'm ready to go to Dragonsreach."

Galmar nodded and left the house silently, leaving the two alone with each other. Ophelia's heart began to race, but this time out of sexual frustration. He looked unbelievably handsome on this day and she hadn't properly noticed it. He had cleaned up and was wearing armor that she had never seen before. His dashing appearance made her stir uncomfortably.

She stood from her chair and placed the goblet down, holding her hand out to him. He obeyed without a word as she led him up the stairs and into the bedroom. She closed the door behind them and turned to face him. She wanted to take him, hard and mercilessly.

Her lips met his in a frenzy and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She weaved her hands into his hair and pulled just enough to make him grunt into the kiss. Every once in a while she found her sexual urges bordering on violent. She never knew why – as she had never once associated anything negative with sex, but there were instances where she couldn't find the line that separated pain from pleasure – nor did she want to, in those moments.

Her hands shot up and began fooling with the new armor that he wore, he groaned into her mouth pleasurably, but pulled her hands away hastily, breaking the kiss.

"Not now, Ophelia. I need to talk to you."

She frowned, shaking her head and going in to place kisses along his neck, "we can talk after. I want you right now."

He laughed at her and laced his fingers through hers, pushing her away, "come now, I'm serious."

She groaned and pulled away from him in full, "I'm all riled up and you come here looking like this – what's a poor girl to do?" Falling onto the bed, she watched him with a displeased expression. She wasn't above brooding to get what she wanted.

"Don't sulk; you look terrible when you do it." He remarked facetiously and moved to sit next to her, his hand grabbing her thigh. The gesture made her womb pulsate. Gods, she needed him right now.

"Then don't tease me." She pulled her leg from under his grip and curled both of her legs underneath her, "now, tell me what it is we need to speak about."

"First of all, I wanted to let you know that the reason I arrived early was to discuss the plan to trap the dragon in full with Vignar and his men. We can't afford room for error so tonight I'm going to have my men practice releasing the trap and go over procedures if something wrong happens."

"I agree." She nodded, "I can't have anyone harming Odahviing unless he makes it clear that he's not going to cooperate, so make sure all of the soldiers know not to attack him unless I give the okay."

"Of course," he continued, leaning closer to her. She appreciated his warmth and risked leaning on him a bit. "If all goes as planned and if – _when_ – you wind up finding and defeating Alduin – I need to know when you will be willing to get married."

Ophelia shrugged, "I'm not particularly picky. We could get married at the end of the battle, for all I care."

"Good, because at this point I'm not wasting any more time. Dragons and Thalmor be damned, I'm going to marry you."

Not being able to suppress the giggle that rose from her throat, she giggled into his shoulder. He smiled at her actions and gently nudged her back and turned on the bed. The way her heart ached and butterflies filled her stomach when he smiled elated her.

Although she had never been confident in saying she had fallen in love before, she wasn't stupid. She and Ulfric really were a good match – confident, amoral at times, aggressive yet vulnerable when need be. She knew deep down inside when she initiated this whole relationship that eventually she would fall in love with him, but as she felt herself falling, couldn't help but try to fight it a little.

She lay on her back and he hovered over her, placing kisses along her jaw and neck, giving her cold chills. He eventually kissed his way up to her mouth, where he caught her lips in a heated kiss. She wrapped her arms around her neck and moaned softly into his mouth.

He pulled away and sat up, his face flushed and his eyes flashing with indignant arousal. As she raised herself up on her elbows, he stood and began stripping himself of his armor.

A smirk crossed her face, "finally."

"We're going to make this quick. Very quick." He stated straight faced as he peeled off the outer layers of his heavy armor and down to his tunic and pants. He crawled back on top of her, dragging the hem of her dress up as his hands scaled her curves.

His calloused hands against her skin made her writhe beneath him. He reached her hips with his hands and released the bundled fabric, letting his hands move to her inner thighs. She gasped against the side of his neck as his fingers teased her already damp entrance and he chuckled. "You really couldn't wait, could you?"

She shook her head and he dipped one finger into her, then two, then three. The pressure of her oncoming orgasm was already felt as he began pumping his fingers in and out of her repeatedly.

She arched her back as he curled his fingers forward inside of her, hitting the one place that made her see stars. Although no one else was in the house, she tried to hide her mewls and cries into his clothed shoulder. He watched her like a hawk, his blue eyes peering deep into her own. It made her feel exposed but she reveled in it silently.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly, making her whimper with discontent. Consumed by lust, she weaved her hands into his hair and tugged his head back; enjoying the wince of pain she received out of him. The twitching of his manhood against her thigh and the lack of reaction on his part made her aware that he liked it as well.

The first time they fucked would always be viewed as a conquest in her eyes. She knew what kind of person he was; the powerful assertion of masculinity he frequently gave off was something she admired but wanted to ruin in the same breath. That day was monumental in many ways.

She captured his parted lips in a vicious kiss and pressed her knee into his side, flipping him over on his back and crawling on top of him. The plate she had left on her bed crashed to the floor loudly and she dismissed it with a huff. With her dress still bundled against her waist, she grabbed him and began sliding onto his manhood.

The sensation of him filling her up made her shudder. She arched her back and cried out, bracing herself with her hands on his chest. He groaned and his eyes fluttered shut. His hands sought out her hips and he brought her down even further on his length.

"Oh Gods," she moaned and gyrated her hips against him. He let out a breathy groan, his hips bucking up into her roughly. The action made another moan catch in her throat and she began to rock back and forth. The candlelight flickered across his hardened face, his eyes were half closed and his mouth parted, huffs of breath escaping with every roll of her hips.

She smirked and grasped his hands, which rested on her hips, and pulled them over his head, where she held them firmly. His brow furrowed as he attempted to pull himself out of her grip but she persisted, keeping him in place while her hips drove him to ecstasy. His head rolled back and he bared his teeth, his hips thrusting up into her desperately.

With another loud cry from his thrusts, she quickened her pace, feeling the all too familiar pressure building up inside of her. As she glanced down at his face again, she felt herself tremble and she finally relenting the hold she had on his hands, collapsing onto his chest and into a deep kiss. She didn't try to keep her voice down as her orgasm washed over her and she grinded herself down onto him wildly.

At the tail end of her orgasm, her arms gave out and she fell onto his chest with a huff and whimper. She felt him roll them over and in a daze, she noticed that her head was hanging off the side of the bed while he hoisted her legs up over his shoulders and began fucking her hard.

Still sensitive from her orgasm, her moans only grew louder, clawing at his chest. He grunted and groaned along with her, a fine sheen of sweat forming over his skin. She body felt like it was about to collapse in on itself in a heated frenzy – the tight dress not helping any. His thrusts became hectic and desperate and he fisted his hands into the furs beneath her. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers by his hair.

Their eyes met passionately and she bit her lip, smiling as a fury of noises came from her mouth. The look seemed to push him just over the edge, and with a drawn out moan and call of her name, he came inside of her. His hips bucked and she felt him twitching inside of her, the sensations of both making her orgasm again. With a whine she arched her chest into him, her eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head as her walls clamped down and quivered around his whole length as he emptied himself in her.

Ophelia was on the verge of sleep when he placed a tender kiss on her lips. She opened her eyes and laughed when she realized that she had nearly fallen asleep. He smiled sweetly at her laugh and withdrew from her, releasing her legs in the process. In silence, he dressed himself and she watched.

She didn't want to talk; then again she didn't think there was even a need for words. They both knew what the other was thinking. She wiped herself clean with a rag that rested next to the basin on her dresser and straightened her dress out. The room was stuffy and hot and the length of her dress stuck to her legs uncomfortably.

Ulfric, once dressed, turned to her, his face emotionless once more. The flush from his face had gone and he looked just like he always did – stoic and calculating. She longed to see the smile he wore just minutes ago back on his face but she knew better.

"Where are you running off to?" she questioned softly and leaned against the table near the door. He joined her, but let his hand find hers and laced their fingers together.

"I'm going to Dragonsreach to speak with Vignar and politely ask if I can stay there for the evening." His eyes watched the hand he held carefully and he traced her tendons with one of his fingers, "you should visit. I don't fancy sleeping alone."

She smirked, "aw."

"Smart ass." He raised an eyebrow and leaned in to kiss her again, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

With great sadness she pushed him away from her gently and opened the door, ushering him out, "if you have things to do, I would suggest to do them now. I'm a busy woman."

Ulfric chuckled sarcastically as he walked down the stairs and she followed closely behind. Once at the door, he turned to look at her once more, "can you stop by Dragonsreach this evening? Wuunferth wanted to speak to you about something."

"Something?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "it has something to do with you being the Dragonborn."

She nodded, "I will. I promise I'll grace you with my presence once more." She poked him in the chest and their lips met one last time. The kiss was over before she knew it and he moved to the door.

"I'll see you tonight, then." He opened the door and left without another word. She wanted to follow him out into the street and directly to Dragonsreach, hanging off of his arm without a lick of shame or worry.

Heaving a sigh, she went on to wash herself, change her dress and clean the house. Tomorrow would be the deciding point in this mission. If she could get Alduin's location out of Odahviing, it would signal the end of the grueling responsibility that had been thrust upon her and she could finally move on in life.

If not, she was back at square one.

* * *

I hope you guys enjoyed this! If you didn't read up at the top, I'll be updating earlier next week (with what was technically supposed to be the second part of this chapter but it wound up being insidiously long).


	7. Chapter 7

Hello all! Thanks for all of the reviews and favs/follows! It means so much to me and keeps me motivated!

Sooo here it is - The Fallen! There's a lot of politics, drama, action, drama, and more drama. I loved writing the last part of this chapter. Anyways, I shall return next week with Sovngarde and we shall see where the drama takes us! :)

*hearts*

Disclaimer:I don't own anything.

Warnings: violence and cursing.

* * *

That evening, as the sun cast its closing crimson rays over Whiterun, Ophelia leisurely made her way up the jagged steps to Dragonsreach. With the bustling of people in the streets behind her, the peaceful lull of the water surrounding the keep calmed her. She was nervous, and rightfully so. She didn't even know if Vignar would permit her to lure Odahviing – as Ulfric hadn't been clear about whether or not he was pitching it to the Jarl or if she was.

If he didn't accept, surely Ulfric would step in to exert some power over the situation… at least she hoped he would. As she was crossing the ornate wooden bridge leading to the Keep, she nodded at the hails from the Stormcloak guards that were gathered around the entrance and took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come.

She quietly entered through the double doors which were already ajar and looked around the entry hall of the keep. There were far more people inside than she had hope for. Folks that she recognized as nobles from around the town were dressed their finest and socialized merrily among each other.

_A party? _

She hated this. She hated it more than Alduin himself. Multiple heads turned to gawk at her when she entered and she unpinned her cloak from her armor, folding it neatly over her arm and making her way through the seemingly endless sea of people.

"Look! It's the Dragonborn!"

Enthusiastic whispers of the folk reached her ears as she awkwardly maneuvered between them, trying to find a familiar face. Never being one for crowds, she could hear her pulse in her head and felt her face burning with embarrassment.

"Dragonborn!" The first semblance of a familiar voice reached her ears and she whipped around to face the direction it came from. Through the mass of people approached Olfina Grey-Mane, an old acquaintance of hers and Vignar's housecarl. She smiled at the woman, who embraced her in a hug.

It was rather uncomfortable, as Olfina's admiration of Ophelia had been something that was difficult to read and the woman had always treated Ophelia as an old friend, although they never really were. However, Ophelia was glad to see someone she knew personally.

"What brings you here?" Olfina asked while taking Ophelia's cloak and beckoning her to follow.

"I was supposed to meet Jarl Ulfric and Jarl Vignar this evening." Ophelia struggled to keep her tone hushed as the bustling of people around them made it difficult.

"There right over here…" Olfina cheerily announced as they neared the edge of the people, next to the hearth and table. Ophelia spotted Jarl Vignar and Ulfric seated next to one another, surrounded by several people she did not recognize.

Ulfric was smiling politely and speaking animatedly to the people that encircled them. It was best she didn't interrupt, she figured, and she looked to their right and behind them, where Galmar stood obviously in contempt.

"Thank you, Olfina. I'll take up with Galmar for now." Ophelia smiled and thanked the woman who had helped her.

Olfina smiled back, "of course. In the mean time I'll put your cloak away for you." She took off and Ophelia looped around carefully, as to not interrupt any of the conversations that took place around them.

Galmar caught a glimpse of her and his deep frown faded into an expression of exasperation, "Talos, woman, where have you been?"

"I just got here… what in oblivion is going on?"

Together, the two viewed the mass of people and Galmar mumbled, obviously disgruntled, "I don't know. Ulfric didn't come get me like he promised so I came here to look for him. Then all of these people arrived and Vignar dragged him away." He motioned in annoyance to the crowded hall before crossing his arms.

"Do you think he's told him about our plan?" She asked quietly as she peered over his shoulder at Ulfric, who was now in a clearly deep conversation with a woman that had taken a seat next to him.

Galmar shook his head, "I doubt there would be a blue-blooded assembly like this if he knew why we were here…"

Ophelia sighed out of frustration and scratched the back of her head, "what do we do?"

"Like hell if I know… You're the one marrying him, do your wifely duty and drag him away from the party.

Ophelia couldn't help the sudden laugh that left her, "you're more of his wife than I am. I don't dote over him. I'm not going over there."

"Then we're at a stalemate." He grunted and uncrossed his arms, placing his hands on his hips.

She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowed. If she needed to play dirty she would – she wasn't very fond of Vignar and his incessant nosiness. It would be her luck that he would decipher every last detail of her arrangement with Ulfric simply by some minuscule detail.

"Shall we repeat what happened earlier today?" She reminded with a bitter sweet tone.

He cocked his head to the side, he smirked, "you've got some balls on you…"

"I do." She smiled haughtily, "now, go over there and get him."

He sighed and ran a hand down the side of this face, looking over his shoulder at the ever-growing crowd around Ulfric and Vignar, "fine." He grunted and turned on his heel, marching towards the group.

Ophelia leaned against the wall and watched with an amused expression. Galmar excused himself as he weaved through the people and neared Ulfric, who was currently surrounded by three different women on all sides of him. Probably women seeking the throne, she noted with a slight grimace. She was justly sure of the stability of their relationship. He wasn't a young man who looked high and low for something to sleep with anymore and besides, she had nothing to lose if this fell apart – he had everything.

Ulfric looked up at him, his expression unreadable but with an eyebrow raised he regarded his friend. Galmar leaned down to whisper something to the other man and Ulfric's eyes began searching the expanse of the back wall before landing on Ophelia. Quickly averting his gaze, he nodded and shooed Galmar away before turning back to the women with a captivating smile. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she forced herself to look away.

What was the point in lying to herself?

While she entertained the thought of not having anything to lose if he were to betray her, the sinking reality of the situation sank in. She was falling in love with him… His disloyalty would bring about her end. Vulnerability was something she was never keen on and all of a sudden it all but consumed her. Her fingers began rapidly tapping against the side of her thigh and her face felt like it was on fire.

"He'll be right over." Galmar said as he returned to her side. He leaned against the wall alongside her, watching the scene before them, leaving Ophelia to her thoughts.

Skyrim was by far the darkest chapter in her already tainted life. It was a harsh, dreary land, with a shady past and a dimmer future, with jaded folk and foul secrets flowing in its very veins. She hated Ulfric when she first met him. He was conceited and feasibly the darkest thing she had encountered in Skyrim at that moment.

Yet through her journey and her visits with him, she knew there was more to him… more to this land. Undeniably he never intended to, but he had shed a new light on this chapter that guided her.

Ophelia, against her better judgment, looked back at it as well. Ulfric was such an optimistic beacon among everything else in the room. His smile, although fake at that moment, was passable to most and caught on around him. He kissed the hands of the women as a farewell and they batted their eyelashes as a reply. He stood and straightened the coat of his armor, leisurely making his way up to them. Her heart beat rapidly as the soft lighting of the hearth danced across his face attractively.

"Dragonborn," he smiled at her, offering her a hand. Clenching her jaw, she took it and they shook as if she was an old colleague. She offered him no smile as she returned his greeting formally.

Galmar looked between the two with exasperation and leaned in, softly speaking, "surely you two could at least act like you know each other. This is stupid."

"Not right now, Galmar. There's too much at stake." Ulfric spoke through a forced toothy grin. Ophelia raised an eyebrow and her fiancé turned to look behind him at Vignar, who was following not far behind with two younger men.

"By the Nine I have the future High King _and_ the Dragonborn in Dragonsreach tonight?" He beamed at Ophelia and embraced her as if she was a close friend. She concluded in the midst of the uncomfortable hug that the Grey-Mane's had boundary issues.

"What brings you to Dragonsreach this evening, Dragonborn?"

Ophelia glanced at Ulfric, who remained resigned, "I'm – well, I need your help regarding something very serious, my Jarl. In fact, that is why Jarl Ulfric is here, as well."

Vignar judged them without a word before continuing, "very well. I'll speak with you in the war room in a few moments. I have to bid farewell to a few people, first."

She nodded respectfully and he turned on his heel to walk away but stopped suddenly, spinning to face her once more, "one thing before I go."

He motioned to the man that followed him over but kept a respectful distance from them. The man walked forward. "Dragonborn, this is my nephew, Avulstein Grey-Mane."

She smiled and extended her hand for a handshake but was surprised when he brought her hand to his lips, placing a well-mannered kiss upon the back. She remembered in full why she couldn't stand Vignar. First it was Thorald he was trying to marry her to. Now it's the other one. Bowing her head and thanking the young man, she brought her hand back, resisting the urge to wipe the back of her hand.

Vignar pat his nephew on the back and ushered him back to the table. Ophelia watched as they walked away before spinning to face her fiancé and his comrade. Galmar wore a snarky smile and Ulfric's eyebrow creased in the slightest frown, although he remained silent.

"He's trying to marry off his nephews again." Ophelia whispered to the two, inconspicuously rubbing her hand on the front of her armor, "so he has no idea as to why we're here?"

Ulfric shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back. Ophelia sighed, looking over at the old Jarl. He was a kiss ass, but he still was Jarl. And they wanted to bring a dragon into his town for an interrogation that might not even work.

"Don't worry; I'm sure we can at least strike a deal with him." Ulfric's stony, apathetic tone irked her. She detested this charade they were forced to put up.

"Or we can just threaten him," Galmar grunted and Ophelia turned her head back around, snickering quietly at the suggestion.

Ulfric glowered, "no strong-arming anyone, Galmar. Let's go ahead to the war room."

The three moved to the far right of the throne and climbed the steps in silence. The war room was far more organized than she remembered it being. The map in the center of the table was cleared of the flags and instead lined with red thread that was carefully woven in between various tacks around all holds. She regularly forgot about the fact that while the Civil War was resolved, the Thalmor were counting down until they could launch an invasion. The three wandered around the room in silence, looking around at various things.

Soon, Vignar joined them. His expression was no longer one of merriment but one of business.

"I knew this visit was far too good to be truly for celebration." He murmured as they all converged on the table.

"The time for celebration has come and gone, Vignar. We all have work to do." Ulfric shot back, leaning against the table and looking over the map idly.

"So what is this topic you wished to speak about?" The old man directed his question towards Ophelia.

She didn't have long to consider her words, "I need your help. I need to trap a dragon in your palace."

Vignar's face contorted into several different expressions before he laughed, "I must have misheard you! I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace."

Ophelia shook her head, sparing no time, "You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

The old man's laughter had died out before she answered but his smile took longer to fade. He sighed heavily, looking at Ulfric who offered no words. Vignar then looked at Ophelia once more, "Of course. You already saved Whiterun from that dragon. I owe you a great deal. But I don't understand. Why let a dragon into the heart of my city when we've been working so hard to keep them out?"

"Alduin has returned." The guards that were stationed at the tops of the staircases turned their heads. Ulfric, Galmar and Lydia were the only ones outside of the Greybeards and the Blades to truly know that Alduin had returned. Others speculated.

"Alduin?" Vignar had gone as white as a ghost as he took it in and he looked to the table in disbelief, "But… how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the end times?"

Ophelia detested the term _end times_, "I'm the Dragonborn. It's my destiny to stop him."

Vignar was still clearly doubtful but conceded, "I don't know about such things. But I heard the Greybeards summon you, so that's good enough for me. Now, what's this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?" He continued on, his tone curt.

"It's the only way to find Alduin before it's too late." Ulfric spoke up this time, glaring ever so slightly at the old man. Vignar's slight aggression faded as if it had never existed in the first place.

"Then Whiterun will stand with you, Dragonborn. We will take the risk and gain the glory. Whether it be in victory or defeat. So, what's the plan then? How do you intend to lure a dragon into the trap?"

"I can shout his name to lure him to Dragonsreach, and then bait him onto the balcony, where the trap in the ceiling will fall." She explained the process as simply as she could. Ulfric and Galmar could help her with the semantics.

"I have men on call outside of the city already." Ulfric said, "They will be here in the morning to help us oversee this."

Vignar sighed, "Very well, then. We shall do this tomorrow morning. This better work."

"It will, Vignar. Don't fret. I have the utmost faith in the Dragonborn's ability." Ulfric reassured the man, who nodded.

"I should return to the gathering. Ulfric, care to join me?" Vignar asked with a hopeful smile.

Ophelia watched Ulfric, who let his eyes dart to her before returning to the other man, "I will. May I have a moment of privacy to speak to the Dragonborn?"

"Of course!" Vignar replied and began towards the stairs, motioning for his guards to follow. Galmar trailed behind uneasily with a scowl.

Once out of sight, Ulfric moved next to Ophelia and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. She watched him with amusement, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Staking my claim. Can't have everybody thinking they can marry you, can I?" he whispered lowly as he caught her lips in a kiss. Her eyes flickered shut and she felt a physical ache overtake her body for the duration of the contact. Gods, what this man did to her. He pulled away, keeping his forehead against hers, "Wuunferth is down in Farengar's chambers. He still wants to see you."

"Ok," she breathed against his mouth, desperately seeking another kiss. His lips found hers for another quick moment before he pulled away completely, abandoning her by the table.

"Good evening," the abrasive professionalism entered his voice again and she clenched her fists.

"Very well, enjoy your party," she said with slight sadness. He clearly noticed, as he paused in his movements and peeked over his shoulder before taking his leave. She heaved out a sigh and put her face into her hands. One step closer to ending this. One step closer to finality.

She followed soon after, her head numb and heavy feeling as she walked down the steps and hugged the wall to Farengar's quarters. The gathering had thinned out but folk still hung off Vignar and Ulfric alike as the two sat at the table. She didn't risk another look, fearing the sting of irrational vulnerability once more.

She slipped through the doors to the mage's quarters and shut them softly behind her. When she turned around, she saw Wuunferth and Farengar seated across from each other at the table. The two wizards wearily looked to her before returning to their quiet conversation. Ophelia kept her distance, concluding from their behavior that they didn't want her to hear whatever they were talking about, and waited patiently for them to finish.

"Farengar, would you mind?" Wuunferth pardoned suddenly and Farengar stood from his chair, retreating to his bed chambers without another word. Ophelia watched as he left with curiosity before walking forward to the old man that now sat by himself.

"Have a seat," he stated, flipping through the pages of a journal he had held in his right hand.

She seated herself across from him and took a look on the table in front of her. There were a few books, all having to do with the Dragonborn tale. So that's what he wanted to talk about. She fought off the urge to roll her eyes. Farengar had attempted to research her before. It was so dehumanizing.

Her fingers brushed over the edge of a pair of small forceps that were left on the table and she noticed how rough they were. Doing a double take, she saw the top edges of it were corroded and warped. She picked them up and examined the ruined tool.

"Your blood did that." He finally setting the journal down on the table, opened to pages that were littered with messy notes.

Ophelia looked back to the warped tool, "how?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he wore a tense smile and crossed his arms, "I have a theory about you."

"What is this theory?" She set the forceps down.

"Being Dragonborn means you have the soul and the blood of a dragon. Your dragon soul, of course, manifests in your thu'um and ability to learn the Dragon Language with ease. The blood part I seem to have misinterpreted as I thought it was only referencing any potential ties to all Dragonborns being related and ultimately connected to the Septim and Mede families. However, it seems as if you do literally have the blood of a dragon. This leads to the question – are there other physical qualities of yours that are similar to if not that of a dragon?"

Ophelia tried her best to listen aptly. Her inexplicable sleepiness had returned and she stifled a yawn, nodding for him to continue.

"Last week, when you were wounded and I tended to you, I used these tools," he picked up the instrument for emphasis, "from the time I had touched your wound with them to when I was cleaning up, they were already like this. I was able to dilute it with water, but I'm afraid these are already ruined." He looked slightly disheartened as he set them back down.

"Dragons blood is acidic." Ophelia stated, recollecting the first time she had killed a dragon outside of Whiterun. She had struck the dragon, his blood smeared onto her sword and her arms. It irritated her skin terribly until she absorbed his soul – then the blood simply vanished with his flesh.

"Yes, as I've heard from multiple accounts from this era and the past… I managed to find some books in Windhelm on the Dragonborn prophecy and I also had an old personal account from Saint Alessia's court." He pulled out a very delicate looking book that was leather bound in white. It was discolored with age, and had a small replica of the Amulet of King's on the front. As he opened it gently and thumbed through the pages with care she desperately wanted to rip it out of his hands and look through it herself. What an amazing piece of history.

"Alessia was the first Dragonborn and although she wasn't able to shout or absorb dragon souls, she still carried many of the same characteristics that other Dragonborns have and even more, I've noticed."

"What do you mean?"

He scrutinized her from behind the pages, "I mean – Alessia wasn't a dragon soul trapped in a human's body. Alessia was a dragon that looked like a human. Although she appeared to be human in nearly every way, there were things about her that contested her humanity. There are innumerable incidences of her abnormalities in this account. Alessia, much like you, had acidic dragon blood coursing through her veins."

He inhaled sharply before continuing, "Without delving too much into personal information, I want to see if you share any other similarities to her. Not just for research but to help you as well."

Ophelia considered before agreeing. "Of course. I don't see what harm it could do." She swore that for an instant, a smile crossed the old man's face. However, he returned to his resigned ways and looked down at a journal he already had laying open on the table.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty two."

"Both of your parents were Nord, yes?"

"Yes."

"What is your family's line?"

Ophelia answered without even thinking about any potential repercussions, "Highlander."

The quill he had been writing with stopped momentarily and his eyes darted to her, but he continued writing, "on your father's side?"

"Father." She figured she was in too deep to withhold information and didn't see any harm in revealing her identity.

"Your mother's side?"

"I'm not sure."

"Tell me about things that you've experienced that you believe might be due to you being Dragonborn."

Ophelia laughed noisily, "You're going to need a journal larger than that."

Wuunferth smirked, "I have a feeling this will do. Go head – from the beginning."

She sighed, looking up to the ceiling to recall…

"I used to have dreams about odd things like Dragons or… or… Well, you see… I had this figure that repeated in my dreams. It was a Nord man, who was very friendly to me… and I used to speak with my adoptive mother about him a lot. She said it was my father speaking to me beyond the grave. Most of the time, I don't even have dreams. It's like I relive the past – relive memories.

"I used to hear voices when I was a child and they were almost like premonitions. This one time, I was running down a path and I heard an odd disembodied voice telling me to get off the road and I did… A group of bandits was closing in on me and if I hadn't gotten off the road, I dread to think of what might have happened."

She stopped in her stories, "I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for, I'm just not sure what you're asking about…"

Wuunferth dismissed her apology, "No, no. It's all right – I need to log all of these down so I can start comparing potential symptoms."

Ophelia nodded, continuing on, "when my adoptive mother passed away I stayed among high elves and they taught me magic. While I was learning magic, that's when the voices in the dragon language began. I only know certain words, so I can't make out everything, but sometimes they're threatening… sometimes soothing. It depends, really. That's happened to me on and off ever since I was about sixteen or so.

"Last night I had a dream… It was so odd. There were two voices speaking the dragon language. One was trying to convince me to take to the skies, the other was telling me to ease. When I came out of it I was having this burning down here…" She stopped and pointed to her lower stomach, "it was painful…"

"Recently, my eating has been off. I'll eat a ton and then feel sick for two days straight. Then I'll sleep for Gods know how long. I've been so tired. Then again, I'm sure all of that is because of stress."

She stopped herself from rambling, "I'm sorry for rambling. That's all, really."

Wuunferth observed her, "it's okay."

The two sat in silence as he finished writing down things in the journal. Once done, he set the quill back into the inkwell and leaned back in his chair.

"You said that you're eating has been off and you've been sleeping often?" He observed her closely and tilted his head.

"Yes… Is there something wrong with that?"

Wuunferth shook his head quickly, looking back down at the table. "I will look over all of this tomorrow and come to you if I find anything of interest."

Ophelia stood from her chair and began leaving. She always felt so weird around Wuunferth. As she reached for the door handle to leave he called for her one last time. She turned.

His old, grey eyes stared seemingly through her and she felt very exposed, "may I advise you take care."

Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes out of confusion, "Oh – okay?"

He opened his mouth to say something else but closed it. With an anxious smile, he waved her on, "have a good evening. Good luck tomorrow."

* * *

Ulfric hadn't stopped berating himself since he walked into Dragonsreach. His intentions were clear in his head, but as soon as he stepped into Dragonsreach he was bombarded by Vignar and his staff. Sitting through the older man's insistent nonsense was enough to wear him down. Of course, it only got worse when he decided to throw an impromptu party for the Stormcloak victory which happened nearly three months prior. Divines help him; he tried to bring up the state of affairs as soon as Vignar caught him but just didn't have the heart to interrupt him.

"Ulfric, do you enjoy hunting? Oh, why am I asking, of course you do." A dulcet, feminine voice belonging to one of the three women that sat around him asked and he grunted in response, drinking more mead.

He had only been halfway present, to be honest. He didn't even remember their names. There was blonde woman, red dress woman, and large breasts woman; all of which Vignar had unleashed on him as soon as he entered. He found their presence entertaining in the grand scheme of the mind numbing affair but knew what they were after. Marriage or an heir. Possibly both if they were as ambitious as Ophelia.

"When was the last time you went hunting, my lord?" The blonde one asked with a little too much enthusiasm and he nearly flinched.

"It's been a long time. After I am crowned King, I will make a point to," he smiled and shifted uncomfortably as he noticed her inching closer to him. A younger Ulfric would have taken this evening to enjoy what was in front of him in full. The women were very beautiful and obviously willing to be with him, but he had other obligations. Ophelia was his wife to be. Her words on the night in Solitude rang true with him still – he didn't want a breeding machine. He wanted a wife.

He also found himself feeling cross with women who tried to flirt with him. The sweet nonchalance of these women did nothing for him. He had learned to love the brash honesty that came with years of dire circumstances.

"You should stop by Falkreath some time! My father hosts a hunting trip out in the wilds biannually. It's fantastic!" The red dress woman invited him with a sweet smile. Her eyes shone with excitement.

"You should send an invitation to my housecarl and I shall find the time." He replied cordially.

The lady's broad smile diluted into an expressive smirk and she sipped her wine, not breaking eye contact with him. He knew that look all too well and averted his instantly. He wasn't the unfaithful type to begin with, but avoiding all situations in which it could be done was the best way to avoid any complications or misunderstandings.

Vignar, not knowing any better, threw women at him nearly every time Ulfric came around. The man was utterly obsessed with marriage and associations. He noticed the way he threw his own nephew at Ophelia and it not only stoked a possessive fire within him but brought upon a realization of how invasive the older man really was.

The door to the wizard's chambers creaked open and Ophelia stepped out, her eyes darting around the hall and falling onto him. He kept his face even and excused himself from the women, setting his tankard down. He straightened his clothing as he made his way up to her.

She remained still as she watched him approached. As he neared a sly smile graced her weary face, "having fun with your girlfriends?"

The jest took him off guard but he smirked while lowering to a whisper, "not as fun as I could be having with you."

"An honest man is so hard to come by these days." She teased with the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice. He knew something was wrong but he didn't comment. There were far too many eyes watching and ears listening.

"I wanted to see you before you took off." He kept his tone even, "Vignar won't allow us to even look at the trap tonight. The trial will happen tomorrow morning, and then we will set the plan into motion."

"No," she defied with her chin raised defiantly, "we don't need a trial. I know what I'm doing. Just put your men on standby throughout the city. I'll take care of the rest." She placed a hand on his shoulder in what appeared as camaraderie and was set to walk on.

He cut her off in a near fit of panic, "…wait… We have to do some sort of practice for this. You're calling a dragon into the city, for Talos sake. _I'm on the line for this."_ He didn't mean for the words to come out as antagonizing, but they did. He was worried out about the whole ordeal and the fact that he couldn't escape from the senseless party.

"I recall you saying that I had your utmost trust. Are you a man of his word or not?" The sarcasm she emanated made him livid. To anyone, the exchange would look lovely but the two stared daggers into each other.

"I am a man of my word. I trust you." He fought off the urge to snarl at her. Why she was being such a smart ass fell short on him. Did Wuunferth do something? Surely she wasn't actually worried about those women. "I hope that you can do the same."

He saw her look over his shoulder at the remainder of people who laughed merrily, "I'm leaving. Goodnight, Ulfric. I will see you in the morning."

Ulfric let her pass by in fear that people would begin to catch onto what was between them. What had gotten into her?

Seeing her walk away was distressing. A man wasn't supposed to watch his woman walk away. He was supposed to take initiative and settle whatever was wrong. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He would talk to her in the morning before they lured the dragon. He returned back to his gathering with a heavy heart and the fakest smile he could muster.

Better to make the best out of a shitty situation.

* * *

"Ulfric!"

Ulfric woke the next morning in a daze. He sat up with a rush and looked around the room. It was morning, and Galmar was scowling from across the room. Ulfric squinted at the bright light that flooded his vision and put a hand on his forehead to ease the ache.

"Bout time you woke up." Galmar grunted as he watched the Jarl struggle with sitting up.

Ulfric's stomach churned and he felt bile rise up to his throat, "I'm going to be sick." He mumbled as he stood, his whole body seizing up in pain. What in Oblivion happened to him last night?

"I would think so. You drank a ton last night." Galmar's fatherly tone was one Ulfric didn't want to hear. He rolled his eyes at his friend, pulling off the tunic that stuck to his body uncomfortably and searching around the unfamiliar room for his clothing.

"On the chair."

"What happened last night?" Ulfric swallowed thickly, trying hard not to vomit. His head throbbed, his stomach churned and his body ached so terribly he felt as if he was on the verge of death. Whatever he did last night did him in well.

"You drank yourself into Oblivion." Galmar answered as he prepared Ulfric a goblet of water, "your drunkenness got the best of you…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ulfric scoffed. He knew he could handle his alcohol. He was a Nord. He was a Stormcloak. He was a fifty one year old war veteran. Of course he could handle it.

Galmar shrugged, "You began blathering about Ophelia to everyone around you. You didn't tell them who she was but you told them nearly everything else. From her hair color to how amazing her backside looks." Ulfric felt a lurch of jealousy and he raised an eyebrow at the older man.

His friend held up his hands defensively, "your words, not mine."

"Fantastic." Ulfric complained and pulled on his clothing on with care, "I guess when Ophelia gets here I can – "

"She's already here." Galmar cut him off, turning on his heel, making to leave the room, "I would hurry if I was you; she's about to call the Dragon."

Ulfric's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest but Galmar left in a rush. He pulled his clothing on as quickly as possible and drank the water that his friend had prepared for him to quell his nausea. He didn't bother looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he looked terrible.

He left the room and caught up with Galmar, who was walking to the balcony. Once caught up, he walked beside the man in silence, avoiding the gazes of the folk who remained in Dragonsreach even after the party last night. He had a lot of damage control to do.

Once at the balcony, he saw Ophelia at the very end, looking out to the plane in the bright sun. Her hair was braided down her back neatly, her armor newly shined and repaired. She must have done it last night, after she took her leave.

Stormcloaks and Whiterun guards scurried around the balcony, making room for the trap to fall. He looked up at the massive trap that hung from the rafters. It was massive. He walked to Ophelia, who continued to look out into the distance of the Whiterun hold.

Ulfric wanted desperately to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. The ache that pestered within him when he couldn't touch her was maddening.

"Excuse me," He spoke calmly once he was close enough to her.

She looked back over her shoulder, at him with a lovely smile. The morning sun cascaded over her face, illuminating her eyes and shone brightly off of her mahogany hair. She looked stunning.

He inhaled sharply, forgetting the words that he had prepared for her, "I… I'm…"

"I'm sorry." She apologized with a frown.

Completely bewildered by her request for forgiveness, he struggled to answer. She fiddled with the clasps of her armor and looked down, "I was really tired and cross last night. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." He moved next to her, trying to figure out the words he wanted to say. She shouldn't be apologizing. He was the one who messed up the whole plan.

Finally speaking, he kept his voice low, "If I had manned up and spoke out against all of the nonsense that Vignar started, we would be more prepared. I'm sorry for making this much more difficult than it needs to be. I'm sorry for getting short with you." His voice lowered considerably and he inched his hand that was on the stone wall next to hers, letting them touch momentarily. She bit her lip at the contact and curled her pinky over his cutely.

Their eyes met and he couldn't help himself, "you look beautiful."

The compliment caused her to smile and she peeked over her shoulder, making sure no one heard the words he uttered. Meanwhile, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He didn't care. He wanted to take her here, bent over against the stone wall – he ached at the thought.

"Ulfric?" Ophelia asked affectionately. He adored the way she said his name. He forced himself away from her suddenly, running a hand through his messy hair. Not the time or place, he had to remind himself.

He answered her finally, remaining quiet, "I'm fine. Lost myself in thought… That's all."

"Dragonborn!" Vignar yelled from the back of the lofty room. They both turned to look at him. He was obviously hung over, just like Ulfric. His brow was furrowed and his eyes red.

The older Jarl walked to them and crossed his arms, casting a judgmental glance at Ophelia, "so are you ready to do this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." She bowed her head and clutched at her sword.

Vignar nodded and began to walk back, commanding his guards to gather round. Ulfric watched Ophelia carefully as her brow knitted and she followed closely behind.

"Listen here!" Vignar called for everyone as they turned their attention to the three who stood in the middle of the room, "The Dragonborn will take over command, now. You will obey her word!"

Vignar allowed Ophelia to take center and she wasted no time, "I'm going to go out to the balcony and shout for the dragon. When it comes, I'm going to lure it onto the balcony and in here. Once he crosses this line," she pointed out a newly painted line on the floor, "you'll release the trap up top. You will not attack this dragon. He will shout and try to kill me and me alone. Do not get in between us and no harm will come to you. If – and I mean if – I get into trouble, you may attack. Am I understood?"

Hollers and yelps of confirmation rang around the room and she dismissed everyone to their positions. Ulfric enjoyed watching her take up leadership positions. He had been captivated by the way she improvised taking Solitude. In his and Galmar's place, she made an excellent commander.

She turned to look at him unexpectedly, placing a hand on his shoulder and letting it fall slightly to his chest, "take position in the back. Don't intervene."

He nodded, "I'll try not to."

Winking at him, she turned on her heel and began walking to the edge of the balcony, looking to the sky. Vignar had been escorted out by the guard, on his own volition. Ulfric rolled his eyes at the thought. He missed Balgruuf often. He and Galmar took their places in the back with Vignar. Galmar already had his Warhammer drawn and Ulfric reached for his blade that was attached to his belt.

Lydia, Ophelia's companion, entered last minute and jogged up next to her. Ulfric felt a pang of guilt. His fiancée was about to physically lure a dragon into a closed environment, and yet he couldn't stand with her. His pride ate away at him as he watched Ophelia and the woman speak. Lydia patted Ophelia on the back and walked away swiftly.

Everyone was ready then, and Ophelia dropped her head, looking to the floor for a few moments before raising it again.

"Od ah viing!"

The shout, although directed to the open sky, sent a minor shockwave back into the room. Then there was the eerie silence that followed. The birds that had been heard before were gone. The wind had silenced, and any chatter that was in the room quieted down straightaway. In that silence, Ulfric could hear his own pulse quicken from the nerves. He watched Ophelia, who looked so tiny compared to the wide opening of the balcony.

Suddenly, a ragged screech rang out from the sky. Ophelia raised her sword and stood straight, like a rabbit hearing a wolfs growl. Her head turned rapidly from the right to the left, where her vision landed on something and she began backing away quickly.

The dragon swooped down just enough for Ulfric and Galmar to see before taking off again. The tension in the room could be physically felt. Everyone was poised and ready. No one had been this close to a dragon without killing it. Letting it live was risky business.

Several heavy winds filtered through the room from the balcony as the dragon hovered over it, growling in the dragon tongue. It tilted its head to the side, staring directly at Ophelia before releasing a fierce shout. Ophelia ducked and dove out of the way of the trail of fire that was directed towards her, dodging it narrowly

Ulfric took a step forward, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword tightly, only to have Galmar's hand placed on his chest to stop him. Ulfric looked up at Galmar, who only grunted, "If she needs help, I'll go in. You're too important."

Ulfric was about to protest but the dragon cried out piercingly, taking off. Ophelia ran out to the balcony once more, her eyes following it's movements across the great expanse above them.

"Joor zah frul!" She shouted again off the balcony. The shout hit the dragon and a bizarre light began engulfing him his wings slowing down as he glided towards the entrance of the balcony. Ophelia yelled triumphantly and looked around, "this is it!"

At once, the guards drew their arrows, their eyes trained on the dragon that was preparing to land. Galmar pulled Ulfric back, which angered him even more, and was prepared to take off. As the dragon was landing, Ophelia was retreating back into the cave of the palace once more, her sword drawn. She was light on her feet, dodging the raging fire that the dragon shouted at her.

Ulfric's heart skipped a beat when she lost her footing at one point and tripped backwards, the beast advancing on her with great speed, its teeth bared. Ophelia struggled to stand but did so quickly and continued moving, luring it just in front of the line – nearly under the trap.

Ophelia looked up once and then down, her swift movements confusing the dragon. With a little more movement, the dragon had been baited across the line and the trap fell, its chains rattling noisily and landing on the beast with a loud crack, pinning it down. Ulfric let out the breath he had been holding and began walking towards Ophelia, who was catching her breath to the side of the maw of the creature.

"Are you alright?" He asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Of course. Did you see me trip?" She giggled.

"I did." He let his hand fall and smirked.

"Nid! Horvutah med kodaav…" The dragon called out, its coarse rumbling shaking the room.

Ophelia's smile left her face and she moved from Ulfric's side to the dragon's huge face, placing a hand on his maw.

"Zu'u bonaar. You went through a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humiliating position." It grumbled in the common tongued, drawing a surprised gasp from the guards. Ophelia didn't respond, only stared into the beasts eyes. "Hind siiv Alduin, hm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

"That's right. Where's he hiding?" Ophelia's voice was hoarse and firm with command.

"Rinik vazah… An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your thu'um myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship. Whether his thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

The woman wasn't having any of his tired excuses and raised her voice, "you were telling me where to find Alduin?"

The dragon's tail curved underneath him as he tried to take a seated position while underneath the trap. Ulfric watched with amusement as the creature that so many feared squirmed with discomfort.

"Unslaad Krosis. Innumerable pardons, Dovahkiin. I digress. He has traveled to Sovngarde to gather his strength, devouring the sillsejour… The souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards… His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the Eastern Mountains. Mindoraan, pa ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there. Zu'u lost ofan hin laan…" The beast's answer was long and difficult to understand for Ulfric, but Ophelia nodded, pacing in front of him, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

"Now that I have answered your question, will you allow me to go free?" His inquiry was low and practically submissive.

"Do you promise to serve me?" Ophelia negotiated shrewdly, her arms crossed.

The dragon's pupils narrowed into thin slits, "Aam? Serve you? …No. Ni tiid. If and when you defeat Alduin, I will reconsider. Hm… Krosis. There is one detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention…"

"Tell me what you know, then."

"Only this – you have the thu'um of the dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot into Skuldafn. Of course, I could fly you there, but not while imprisoned like this."

Ophelia's eyes narrowed as she watched him with skepticism, "We seem to be at an impasse, then."

"Indeed… Orin brit ro. I cannot leave here until you defeat Alduin, which you cannot do without my help. Hin aar, orin nu. And yet here I am, still your prisoner. You will release me – ro laan – if in return I promise to take you to Skuldafn and stop helping Alduin?"

"I'm still wondering if I can trust you…"

"Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

She looked down at the floor for several moments, a look of near sorrow crossing her features, "very well. I will accept your offer. But you will stay here for a few while I collect my belongings and get prepared. I shall return within the hour and I will free you." Ulfric surveyed her, trying to gather what her plan was.

The dragon huffed but accepted in the dragon language.

"He is to not be bothered at all, am I understood?" She yelled to the whole room, which responded with a peculiar silence.

She turned and began walking to Ulfric; her arms still crossed defensively, "I need to talk to you in private."

Her words were rushed and severe. Ulfric was surprised but nodded calmly, motioning for her to follow. She did and he led her back to the room he woke up in. As the two walked in silence, he thought about how she would go about luring Alduin out of Sovngarde, but opted to ask her once they were in private.

Once in the room, he shut the door and turned to look at her. She was already sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand placed over her mouth and her eyes closed. Ulfric immediately moved next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, "Ophelia? What's wrong?"

Ophelia opened her bloodshot eyes, whispering sadly, "did you not hear that?"

"I heard… a little." He admitted. His listening had faded in and out – mainly because it was difficult to understand the dragon and partly because he couldn't stop watching the beast's actions.

Ophelia's eyes were wide and her hands trembled visibly, "I'm… I'm going to have to go to Sovngarde. If I go, I don't think I'll be coming back."

Ulfric's stomach and he felt cold all over. Memories of his past grief came back to him and hit him like a tidal wave. He had come this far and through this much, only to be blindsided by the cruelty of fate once more. He had fallen in love with her and now she was being ripped away from him.

"I'm scared. For the first time in all of this…" She stilled, bringing the palms of her hands up to her eyes to stop the tears that were about to fall.

Nearly losing his nerve, Ulfric tried his best to find some solution, "then let me come with you."

"Absolutely not. Your people need you." Her face was flushed and tears threatened to fall but she fought them off valiantly. It was killing Ulfric to see her like this – so afraid and helpless.

He couldn't find his voice. Even if he did, the words wouldn't come to him. He took several deep breaths, trying to straighten out his thoughts. Her destiny was prearranged and unrelenting. It tore at him from the inside out. He remained silent for some time, trying to quell whatever emotional outburst was trying to break free from him.

"This… This is your purpose." Ulfric rasped out, "I'm not going to sit here and pretend that in the grand scheme of things that we are more important than Alduin's defeat. To me, you're the most important thing and I would want nothing more than to stop you from doing this."

Ophelia raised her head and looked to him. He glanced at her but immediately looked away, her display of sentiment far too strong for him to handle appropriately. She didn't need him to be fragile right now. Ultimately, this wasn't fair to her. She was the one sacrificing her life – now wasn't the time for his own self-pity.

"But this isn't about wants or desires. This is about survival and the sanctity of Tamriel. I need you to fight and to win. _Everyone_ needs you to win," he started, bringing his hand to hers and grasping it tightly, letting his eyes fall onto her finally, "Your destiny is now at the mercy of the Nine. You need to defeat Alduin, regardless of whether or not your life is at stake."

He let out a quivering breath, feeling his chest ache painfully as he tried to find optimism in this massive cesspool of despair, "If you come back, then I will be waiting for you. If not, then I expect to see you waiting for me when my day comes."

Ophelia heaved a sigh, "Don't speak in absolutes. You have your life to live; I want you to be happy."

"I'm not happy without you. I'm convinced that the Divines sent you to me not only as a lesson of compassion and humility but as my soul mate. You're wild, ambitious, and very, very stubborn. But I love it. I love you."

It was a simple declaration, hardly anything that he had ever read about in stupid novels, but it was worth it. Her full lips parted to speak but she halted last second and moved towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing him into a kiss. It was in this kiss that he had never felt happier before. The pain was still there, yes. But the confession brought about a sense of serenity that was all encompassing.

"I love you." She murmured against his lips in between kisses and through the dense tunnel of emotion he felt himself weakening. He pulled her close to him by the small of her waist, nearly crushing her with a hug. She buried her face into his neck again and they sat like that for some time in reverie.

She returned the gesture with as much strength as she could, "I should go. I don't want to test Odahviing's patience."

He pulled away, "do you already have everything you need?"

"Lydia has my things by the balcony."

Ulfric felt immensely protective of her, then. Although he knew better, he held onto her, a forewarning feeling inside of him thrashing to get out. With a great implementation of willpower, he let her go from his embrace. She moved to the tankard of water and cleaned off her face with it and a rag she found. Once the red flush of emotion had left her face she took a deep breath, viewing him with a caring expression.

She was his lover and he was letting her go to her death. It frustrated him to no end. Noticing his frustration, Ophelia moved close to him and placed a hand against his cheek, bringing his face forward. She placed a loving, chaste kiss on his lips. The chastity of the kiss didn't last long, however, as Ulfric pulled her close to him and deepened it. He wanted to take her, hard and desperately. She pulled away, prying his wandering hands form her body with gentleness.

"Next time, darling. I promise." She attempted to jest and it lightened the mood considerably. All he could do was hold out hope.

_Yes. _

_Next time._

"I love you." He repeated the confession as she opened the door.

She smirked, reminding him of her self-assurance back in Solitude, "I know."

He would have laughed but the situation dampened whatever humor he experienced. Instead, he only smiled sadly, letting his fingers linger on her arm before she left the room, the sound of her footfalls echoing lightly down the corridor.

* * *

Ophelia, thoroughly overwrought from her encounter with Ulfric, strode from the room as quickly as possible. Their confession of love had raised her morale while simultaneously breaking her heart. She wanted to stay with him, to offer him all that he had deserved. She didn't want to die – but it was time for her to finally give up the control she desperately clung to.

It was pitiful and painful, but the nagging desperation she felt to stop what her fate had to be defeated before she moved on with this. If she was to defeat Alduin, she needed to forsake her trepidation. As she walked back onto the balcony and spotted Odahviing, whatever apprehension that lay within her had dissolved.

She moved to Lydia's side, throwing the bag that sat next to the other woman over her shoulder and securing her quiver around her back, "Lydia…"

Lydia's eyes were cast down with unhappiness, and the housecarl remained silent. Ophelia reached out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to make this quick, because I don't fancy crying. I don't know how this is going to end for me. But I want you to go to High Hrothgar and wait for me, just in case. If I come back, I will head there first. If I don't… everything I own is yours. Watch over Whiterun for me."

Lydia's eyes were brimmed with tears and Ophelia cursed inwardly. She wasn't good at goodbyes. Feeling guilty, she reached forward and did the only thing she could think of, to hug Lydia, "thank you for everything."

Lydia nodded and when they pulled away from each other, she saw that the woman squared her jaw with fortitude. Ophelia smiled slightly and backed away, back to Odahviing's face.

"Dovahkiin, are you ready?" The dragon purred with discontent.

"Yes…" She looked up at the guards at the top and motioned towards the trap, "release him!"

"Are you sure?" One guard asked disbelievingly.

"Do it!"

The trap hauled up off of the Dragon and he lifted his head, shaking it as if he was a wet dog, and he slowly turned, walking towards the far edge of the balcony where the sun shone down stunningly. Ophelia followed, each of her steps feeling heavy and forlorn.

Once at the far edge, Odahviing lowered his head down to her level, indicating for her to climb upon him. She faltered, her eyes darting to where she stood just minutes prior. Ulfric was there, looking on without reaction. The sweet grasp of temptation pulled at her and she was so close to running back to him. Yet she didn't. Tearing her eyes away from the gut wrenching scene behind her, she climbed onto the dragon.

Tears brimmed as she felt the dragon begin to flap his wings. She clutched onto him, yearning to jump off. This was the toughest thing she had ever had to do. Once in the air, Odahviing soared up and away from the city, the majesty of such a moment lost on Ophelia. She looked over her shoulder in misery as the palace grew tinier with each flap of Odahviing's wings.

* * *

'_Dovahkiin.'_

Ophelia hacked and slashed her way through Skuldafn with relative ease. She withheld no mercy. If this is what they Gods intended for her, then she will please them with the blood of those that stand in her way.

'_Krosis, Dovahkiin. Pogaan krosis.'_

Fire flew from her hands and mouth, raining over the Draugr that stood up to her in a vicious assault. Screeching, the undead souls withered away, smoldering and wounded. Not wanting to carry more than she had to, she surpassed the loot and options to explore. Her destiny was calling – she wouldn't make it wait.

'_Din los dez.'_

The voice rumbled painfully in her ears, never relenting. It had begun as soon as she stepped foot at the temple and hadn't ended, but she didn't mind. It drove her onward. The spoken tongue, although she couldn't understand fully, did nothing more than remind her of her intense hatred of Alduin and this whole damn quest. Her sword fell onto a Draugr scourge lord's neck once, twice, three times – until its head spiraled onto the floor.

'_Hin mal gein nis lahney.' _

Shaking from adrenaline, she shakily unlocked the door that led to the outside, where the portal was in view. She released a sigh of relief and allowed a small smile. One step closer. Closing her eyes, she let out a harsh whisper, "laas yah nir!"

When she opened her eyes, four spots appeared in her direct vision. Three draugr patrolled the general area ahead of her, and up the staircase, where the portal shined brightly, another light was emanated. Marching ahead, she drew her sword back up with one hand and brought up the other, which cradled a lightning bolt.

She charged at them with no inhibitions. The anger inside of her at the Gods, at Alduin, at this destiny of hers – it all drove her to a pure state of bloodlust that she had never entered before. Forsaking all sense of technique, she set to kill as savagely as she could, teeth bared and blade at the ready.

The draugrs fell one by one, and soon she was left alone out in the frigid air. She stopped at the base of the steps and inhaled deeply, letting the cool air refresh her as best as possible before going up to the portal.

As she made her ascent up the steps, the figure that waited at the top of the small staircase ahead came into vision. It was a dragon priest. Unaware that she was there, he looked into the portal and simply watched. Ophelia pulled her bow from her back and drew an arrow back, letting it fly through the air. It hit the priest in the back and he turned to face her, seeing her squatting form instantly.

She stood and drew another arrow, releasing it. It hit him in the shoulder and he collapsed back, trying to gather his bearings. As she reached back to draw another arrow, he quickly drew the staff from its holding place, closing the portal and aimed it at her.

She shot the arrow but didn't see if it had hit him, as a bolt of lightning struck her in the middle of the chest, knocking her back. Catching her breath, she looked up and the dragon priest was floating towards her, the staff at the ready. She drew her sword and forced herself up, charging at the ancient being. It took a lot of dodging and senseless hacking, but he eventually fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Heaving a sigh when he fell, she hurriedly salvaged the staff from his remains and placed it back onto its pedestal. The large circle in front of her collapsed in on itself and a great wind accompanied by a massive white radiance shot from it – forming a pillar of other worldly brilliance to the sky. The pull of the rushing wind pulled Ophelia's body closer to the edge of the platform and she fought hard to keep her footing.

Closing her eyes, she shouted aura whisper and opened them back up, casting an eye over the scenery before her. If she was to come back here, she wanted to make sure she didn't come back to any surprises. Nothing.

Ophelia walked to the platform's edge tentatively and peeked braced herself to jump in. As she did a wave of nausea reared its ugly head. This was the point of no return. She nervously refastened her equipment tightly to her body and sheathed her weapons.

As she gave herself a once over, something odd caught her eye. In her field of vision, a faint pink glow fluttered along the lower reaches of her body and she looked down at it fully. The aura whisper had picked up on apparent life directly below her, the glow of the soul shining through the stone floor and through her lower torso. The silhouette of light was large enough to be not far underneath her, but still small enough that she couldn't determine what it was, exactly. She furrowed her brow. That wasn't something she saw earlier.

Shuffling to her left, dangerously close to the edge of the platform, she attempted to gain perspective of where the glow spawned from. As she moved, she watched her footing carefully, as to make sure she wasn't going to slip into the raging column of wind and light.

Looking back down, she was shocked to see the glow wasn't below where she was just standing and looked around below her. It continued to dimly shine through her stomach. Her eyes widened suddenly and she placed a hand over her armor. It wasn't from below her, it was inside of her. The glow radiated from her womb, and she was nearly overcome by unsteadiness. Swallowing thickly, she moved again, to make sure she wasn't seeing things. Every step she took confirmed her worst fear.

Aura whisper detected nearly every kind of soul – living, dead, and undead. However, it didn't detect one's self… Ophelia trembled as the realization set in. She was pregnant.

"No…" she muttered to herself, shaking her head. She grasped the armor in front of her womb and began looking around for an escape from the temple. As she moved from the edge of the platform her boot caught on a piece of stone that jutted from the uneven floor, causing her to fall to the ground with a loud thud. The fall knocked the wind out of her and she gasped for breath as she struggled to stand.

She had to get out of here – she couldn't do this with child…

Falling to the ground again, she felt her body slowly being drawn into close proximity of the entry. Her leg dangled off of the edge of the platform and her fingers dug into the stone, desperately seeking traction. Letting out a cry, her fingertips raw from how tightly she gripped the stone, she utilized all of her strength to pull herself away from the power of the gateway to Sovngarde.

The force only seemed to gain more strength against her and she choked out a cry. Her fingers slowly gave out and she was pulled off of the platform by the force. She fell to the very edge of the portal with an unforgiving crack. Yelling out from the pain of the fall, she put forth a valiant effort in trying to stand up again, but couldn't. The decline of the edge she was sliding down was too steep and the force of the portal far too strong. She slid the rest of the way down and into the light – feeling her body feeling weightless as she was transported into the unknown.

* * *

AN: Also, I figured some people might find it funny that I purposefully made a playlist of very, very depressing classical music (namely Am I Not Merciful? from Gladiator - SO DRAMATIC AND SAD UGH.)

Take care and I'll see you next week! :D


	8. Chapter 8

Hello all! Thanks so much for the reviews and favs/follows. It really keeps me motivated to continue this story full speed ahead. :)

This chapter was difficult to write, as I'm not keen on using too much in game dialogue. But alas, I don't really have much of a choice for this particular story line. It's a bit short, but it needs to be for the next few parts to make sense. Not a lot of romance in this chapter, just a lot of drama and action. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Violence. Lots of violence.

* * *

Ulfric didn't say another word after she left atop the dragon, only motioning for Galmar to follow as he made haste to leave Whiterun. While taking his first steps out of Dragonsreach, a very unsatisfied Vignar attempted to intercept him – claiming that he had only just arrived and needed to stay. As politely as he could, Ulfric let him down, promising to stop by another time.

Lack of feeling overtook him as he readied his horse and mounted, his men following suit quietly. Galmar attempted conversation or even consolation many times during their long trek back to Windhelm but was met only with silence. Ulfric took to solitary brooding whenever something plagued him, and Galmar respected it for what it was.

Glancing at the Throat of the World as his caravan made their way along the Eastern road, he felt himself pining for the tranquility of High Hrothgar. As a young lad he hated living there and desperately sought out ways to weasel out of his commitment to learning the Way of the Voice. How typical that after tasting the bitter reality of the world and life itself, he longed to return.

He wondered if Ophelia would join him if he were to take to the seven thousand steps again. They were both cut from the same cloth – born into a title that neither were eager to handle, formidable tasks thrust upon them at unfortunate times, both shaped by the cruel assertion of circumstance. Naturally, he suspected she would enjoy staying there after the feat she was to accomplish.

"Ulfric," Galmar said to him when the caravan had halted along the road for a rest, "I'm sorry." The older man's voice was wrought with compassion - an odd occurrence, Ulfric noted.

"Don't be. It's not you who should be apologizing to me." Ulfric kept level headed; sulking openly about her fate wouldn't do anyone good.

Galmar frowned, his eyes cast down at the bank of the river they were standing by, "You know what I mean. I know she meant a lot to you."

His use of past tense and accusation's exasperated Ulfric, who wasn't keen on the softer side of emotions as it was. Although Galmar's words rang true, it wasn't something Ulfric was comfortable with.

"Do not speak of her as if she's dead. I know her. I know what she's capable of."

"I agree." Galmar quickly defended his choice of words as he noticed Ulfric's aggrieved expression, "I don't think she's going to die."

Ulfric didn't respond. He didn't need to. As Galmar followed him into an uncomfortable state of wordlessness, Ulfric watched the river calmly flow before him.

There was no indication of when she would be back – if she was coming back at all. All he could hope for was Alduin's demise and the sanctity of her soul in life or death. Then again, those were both difficult enough. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he tried his best to forget the anxieties he felt.

"We need to keep moving. There's much to be done in Windhelm today." He grumbled as he turned on his heel and to his horse, the caravan already preparing to take off. As he mounted the horse, he risked one more glance at the throat of the world, trying his very best to ignore the ever nagging feeling of loss that returned to him.

* * *

With a great rush of blood to her head, Ophelia felt her body ripped from Nirn and thrown into the chasm of unfamiliar nothingness. She struggled to keep her eyes open as giant beams of light and wind flew by her at an unreal speed, delving into further obscurity. While she was terrified, she couldn't bring herself to actively panic. There was too much splendor in front of her to dread. It was truly beautiful, the way the rays of illumination surpassed her into the clutches of infinity.

Eventually, her flight halted and she tried to move in order to see around her, but was unable to. The calming paralysis made it difficult to breathe and in the eerie suspension, and that was when she began to panic. She finally recalled her last moments on Nirn and suddenly she wanted to cry. Trying to move her hand down to her lower belly, she despaired – she couldn't move.

_Please._

Just then she fell into the gulf of emptiness beneath her, her forced immobility gone. As she fell she heaved desperately for breath, the devastating emotion and fright causing her diaphragm to contract against her own will. The corners of her vision darkened hastily and she felt herself dropping into unconsciousness.

It had only felt as if a moment passed when Ophelia opened her eyes again. Fuzzy shapes of figures, in shades of blue and ashen haze invaded her vision. She blinked several times, trying to clear the blurriness from her eyes. The landscape in front of her appeared to be similar to Skyrim, but it definitely wasn't her home. An unnatural mist laid over the land further down the visible trail. It was thick and all-encompassing, navigating over the land almost as if it had a mind of its own.

She placed a hand on the chilled stone she leaned on, pushing herself up to her feet and stumbling for a moment. Once she steadied herself, she took a look around her. The haunting beauty of the land was lost on her, as she was preoccupied with the distressing reminder that she very well might be expecting. If so, and if this was the end for her, it was surely the end for her unborn child too. She felt sick again with regret and anger, but tried her best to rationalize the situation.

Although she had been reckless with her lifestyle choices, it wasn't as if she had willingly jumped into the afterlife. In her head she repeated a mantra she had been told over and over again by Sariba in her younger days: If the Gods will it – then it must be. The anguish hadn't gone, but before she could rest and grieve further, she needed to stop Alduin. Duty first.

"So this is Sovngarde... Rather lackluster." She sullenly muttered to herself. She began down the stairs gingerly, her body aching from the general unpleasantness of her arrival to Aetherius.

As she walked down the cobblestone path, she was made aware of the unnerving thickness of the fog before her. The mist coiled and danced ever closer to her and she kept her eyes locked onto it. Whatever the veil's origins, they were not good in nature.

She suspected the path she was walking on lead to The Hall of Valor – something she had heard about it in legend. Maybe that was her next destination through this unknown. Every step she took felt heavy and agonizing.

How was she to fight the World Eater like this? Disorientated, pregnant and injured… It was shameful. Her heart ached at the state of matters but she knew deep within herself that there wasn't anything to be done about it. Fate and duty and all of that nonsense, she reminded herself once more.

As she drew near the edge of the mist she slowed considerably, examining the opaque vapor curiously. She raised her arm, sticking it into the mist, in awe of how it clung to her arm as if it was some sort of fabric.

A loud roar sounded in the distance and she pulled her hand from the mist, placing it onto the hilt of her sword, her head turning towards the sky. Over the far horizon of the mist she saw one of Alduin's black wings peek and soar through the sky before delving back down into the mist quite a distance ahead of her. When he vanished, she looked dead into the mist and inhaled deeply.

No point in fearing death at this point.

"Lok vaah koor!" The shout rang with a clap and a jolt shot through the mist, pushing it all back to a certain distance from her, clearing out the path.

As the remaining clouds of haze evaporated, a young Stormcloak appeared in the middle of the path, looking around curiously, his face plagued with awful restlessness. She shuffled near him slowly, lowering her blade.

"Turn back, traveler! Terror waits within this mist. Many have braved the shadowed vale but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way." He cried and frantically turned his face to the sky, looking for any signs of who she presumed was Alduin.

Her alert expression dropped and she frowned as she realized that she recognized the young man. He was the young Stormcloak whose sister she rescued. The familiarity made her ill. He was so young…

"I remember you. I saved your sister… Eva." Her voice was barely above an outraged whisper, "what happened?"

The young man smiled at her dreamily, "I was called in as backup near Giant's Gap. In the gloom before dawn, we marched, unsuspecting into the Imperial's trap. Then we stood and fought, our shield-wall defending until by dawn's light the Legion's rank wavered. But I never knew if nights-end brought victory – a swift-flying arrow Sovngarde carried me."

He didn't mention anything about their prior meeting, only rehashing the still tranquility of passing away. Pitifully, she sought out something to say to him as she noticed the closing in of the mist around them, "what is this mist?"

"I don't know – but none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed vale… Can you lead the way to where Shor's hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?" He kindly requested, becoming antsy as the fog neared their legs.

Ophelia looked beyond him and shouted for clear skies once more, clearing out the thick mist, "yes, I will lead you."

"I saw it fair when first I trod this long-sought path. This pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision backoned – Shor's hall, shimmering across the clouded vale. But quenched was hope by the shrouding mist – my mind is darkened. I've lost the way and wander blindly." He became solemn and took several steps down the path before stopping, waiting for her, "Hurry! Before Alduin your life devours bring word to Shor's hall of our hard fate!"

She took point in front of him and began down the path, clearing it out further, "follow me. I will take you there."

He trotted closely behind her, "I'll try to hold to your hopeful purpose. Quickly, before this encompassing fog once more snares me in the World Eater's net."

Ophelia, still perturbed by the unexpected coincidence, led on down the path cautiously. Alduin screeched in the distance on several occasions, and they diligently watched for his appearance. But there was no sight of the beast. Several lost souls wandered in the mist and while she extended them help, they all refused, resigned wholly to miserable fortune. Begrudgingly, she carried on with her sword drawn, the Stormcloak soldier flightily tailing behind her silently.

Through the top of the mist, she saw what looked like giant rigid bone stretching up into the air and her hopes lifted. Tale told of the Whale Bone Bridge – the last pathway to Shor's Hall. With an abrupt burst of optimism she quickened her pace, only to have her eye caught by another soul she recognized.

Doing a double take, Ophelia swallowed thickly. To her right, near several large boulders, sat Legate Rikke. Knowing that her blade was the one to extinguish the woman's life made Ophelia's skin crawl with odd feelings of remorse.

That was the first time she had seen Ulfric show any signs of repentance for anything he had done – when Rikke's body fell lifelessly to the floor during the battle for Solitude. It was clear they had known each other for some time, how they addressed each other in the midst of combat.

The woman was strong and courageous; worthy of all esteem people had given. Ophelia regarded her as the very epitome of what a Nord woman should be. In fact, her admiration of the Legate had almost driven her to join the Empire's fight. However, as Ophelia would like to believe, fate had led her elsewhere, and she had ended the woman's achieved life with a few short swings of her blade. All for conviction. It wasn't fair to Rikke.

Ophelia brought herself from through and swiftly approached the woman, who watched on in pure misery. Ophelia grasped her arm, not saying a word. She tried to pull the other woman to her feet but was met with heavy resistance.

Rikke scowled and attempted to yank her arm away from her, "The bitter war of the world beyond was all for naught."

Ophelia, knowing all and well what she was speaking of, refused to let go, "I know you remember me. I'm here to stop Alduin, but I need you to come with me."

"We are all trapped in Alduin's web – for our allegiance he cares not, but devours us equally – doom unescapable." Rikke shook her head, the wrinkles around her eyes easing as her expression changed from contempt to grief, "Shor as well – he welcomes all here as to his kingly hall, if we could but reach it."

Annoyed by the depressive state of the other woman, Ophelia heaved Rikke to her feet with force that she didn't even know she had, "I killed you. I'm sorry for it, but nothing can change what has happened. But if there's one thing I'm going to do right while I'm here, it's save your soul. Come with me."

The fog closed in and Alduin roared in the distance, the force of the sound making the ground rumble. The Stormcloak begged Ophelia to make haste and she regarded him with a grunt, pulling on Rikke's arm.

Rikke staggered along, gaping at their surroundings in a daze, "Do you know the way? I am weary and lost…"

"I know the way," Ophelia barked as she marched down the path, dragging Rikke along with her, Alduin's screeches nearing them considerably.

As she continued to clear out the mist before them, Ophelia became increasingly furious. Was this the plan of the Gods? To make her experience these demons rather than end Alduin's tyrannous reign?

Once they reached the Whale Bone Bridge, Ophelia released Rikke, who promptly fell the ground in a fit of misery – the Stormcloak rushing to her side to help her back up. Whatever this mist had done to the souls, she hoped desperately that it was reversible. Such hopelessness was so unlike the tales of old in regards to Sovngarde.

Alduin roared nearby them and she shot her head around to peer into the mist. A scream followed and she grimaced. So this is what he was doing. Making souls lost in order to feast on them.

A tap on her shoulder caused her to jump back around and she was faced by the wide torso of a very, very large man. Ophelia looked up at the massive man and her eyes widened, "greetings."

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?" The man's voice was thunderous. He backed away to the entrance to the bridge, where he stood with unrivaled confidence, his eyes burning into her as he patiently awaited her reply.

"Who are you?" Perhaps she should have been more polite, but circumstance had made her bitter and tired.

"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whale Bone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's loft hall where welcome, well-earned awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

His response was convoluted and difficult for her to follow, but she grasped the point. She looked behind him, where Shor's Hall awaited her, "I pursue Alduin, the World Eater."

"A fateful errand. Now few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor retrained our wrathful onslaught – perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw."

"Very kind of him to make me aware of such a doom." She murmured before continuing sheepishly, "I seek entrance to the Hall of Valor."

Tsun inspected her for some time before answering, "No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

"By the right of birth, I am Dragonborn." She nearly demanded, not being able to help the way her voice rose.

"Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

"Can I enter the Hall of Valor?" Ophelia's request was curt and she gripped the hilt of her sword.

Tsun lowered his gaze, taking several steps forward and drawing his weapon. Ophelia noticed and raised her sword defensively stepping backwards as he advanced on her, "Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy of the warrior's test."

He raised his battle-axe over his head and swung down at her. Light as ever on her feet, Ophelia dodged and pirouetted away from him, her blade at the ready. Tsun was abnormally large, his reach long enough to force her back incredibly far away from him– this put her at a disadvantage as she couldn't bring her blade to him without risking her own safety.

Bringing her blade in from the side, she sliced at his torso and barely scratched him. She cursed under her breath as he came into another heavy handed attack which she again avoided easily with her swift footwork. As he slowly picked his axe off of the ground where he had missed her she kicked him in the thigh, knocking him down to his weakest point. She swung then, hitting him square in the back with her blade.

Grunting, he brought his axe back up with alarming speed, swinging it at her, she bounded out of the way and brought her blade up to deflect the long weapon as it neared her face. He reached for her and she flew, only to be tripped by his leg. She fell to the ground, her blade still in her hand, and kicked his leg down out of retaliation. He fell with her and she brought her blade over to his chest, where it sliced his flesh and bounced off in the most peculiar of ways. They were already in death, so the wounds she inflicted upon him held no severity. However, his attacks on her were unknown.

As he reeled from the wound, she took the time to stand, waiting for him to do the same. She was in Sovngarde; it wasn't the time or place for cheap shots. This alone kept her prepared and quick to move. Dodge, parry, counter… dodge, parry, counter… It was repeated several times until Tsun finally fell to his knee and dropped his axe. Ophelia kept her distance at first, unaware of his intentions.

"Shor's favor has found you, Dragonborn. The Hall of Valor, heart's-ease, awaits."

Ophelia, still panting from their encounter, nodded at him out of respect as he stood and motioned towards the bridge. She sheathed her weapon and took one last glance over her shoulder. The Stormcloak and Rikke took their rest upon rocks that were in the clear, not too far from the entrance of the bone bridge – seemingly unaware of anything other than the mist.

Without a word, Ophelia sheathed her weapon and continued to the colossal bone structure. As she walked across, the giant bones beneath her feet crackled and groaned from the stress of her weight. She opted to not look down, as the chasm beneath her would surely make her dizzy, and the massive structure that waited at the opposite end of the walkway was already forcing wooziness upon her.

Once at the entrance, she gently opened the door, which revealed behind it a beautifully lit scene of feasting and merriment. Contrasted to the outside, Ophelia felt as if she had entered another realm completely. A tall, broad man whose beard reached his chest smiled warmly at her as she quietly made her entrance. He began towards her with his arms opened.

"Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command, we sheathed our blades and ventured not on the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loosen their fury upon the perilous foe." His accent was thick and his tone full of pride. It was endearing and comforting. He turned and motioned to three figures that lurked behind him, not smiling as the rest of the folk did. They, too, looked familiar.

"Gormlaith, the fearless, glad-hearted in battle. Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim." He turned back to face her, his smile constant.

"Thank you. Pardon my ignorance, but who are you?" She asked as courteously as she could manage. The hall brought upon a feeling of optimism and comfort that instilled complacency within her. She didn't need complacency.

"I am Ysgramor." He didn't say anything else as her mouth fell open and she bowed her head respectfully. Ysgramor himself… by the Nine…

"Thank you," she humbly thanked as she passed by him. Ysgramor… the man she had heard so many tales about, right before her own eyes. If the situation weren't so dire, she would have made an attempt to speak with him. Yet, she knew it wasn't the time for such things and walked to where the three dragon slayers stood – the ones she had seen in the vision bestowed upon her by the Elder Scroll.

Hakon spoke first, "for a hundred lifetimes my heart has burned for revenge on Alduin, too long delayed."

"Alduin escaped us long ago. Today, we take our well-tempered revenge!" Felldir chimed in, reaching to place a hand on Ophelia's shoulder.

"The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin's doom! His death or ours!" Gormlaith loudly yelled and unsheathed her weapon in a fit of confidence.

What an enthusiastic bunch, Ophelia noticed inwardly but said no word. All seemed to know what she was there for and far be it from her to disturb the process.

"Hold, comrades – let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare – its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak." Felldir began severely, holding up a halting hand to Gormlaith, who scowled at him.

Ignoring her, he continued, "But with four voices join, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him into battle!"

"Felldir speaks wisdom – the World Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe!" Hakon interjected enthusiastically and drew his sword.

Gormlaith yelled once more, "to battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted."

The three hastily sprinted to the outside and Ophelia followed. At least she wasn't in this alone. If she didn't come to Shor's Hall, she wouldn't have had any clue as to what to do and would have been foolish enough to attempt battle by herself.

The mist had fallen over her trail she had made with Rikke and the Stormcloak soldier, both of which still sat wearily by the Whale Bone Bridge. They looked up to her and the three warriors but said nothing. Once at the edge of the thick fog, Ophelia drew her sword and followed the lead of her new found comrades.

"We cannot fight the foe in this mist!" Felldir cried out from frustration, looking up as Alduin roared in the distance.

"Clear Skies – combine our shouts!" Gormlaith commanded and counted down for everyone to shout.

"Lok vah koor!" They all shouted at once, the force of four separate shouts shaking the ground viciously. Ophelia was nervous then, as the mist disappeared, leaving them all exposed in the open. A violent tremor was sent back to them followed by Alduin's distinct voice.

"Ven mul riik!"

So menacing, his voice. It had haunted Ophelia for more than a year – pestering her in her everyday life and her sleep. The anger of the memories and visions that were brought to her by his will making her shake. What had she done to deserve his wrath?

The mist converged on all four of them and Ophelia braced herself as it covered her completely. With her comrade's backs to hers, they all shouted as one again, clearing their area once more, the magnificent shockwave from the combine shouts more brutal than the last time.

Ophelia released a pent up sigh as the fog cleared. It rendered you blind in every way - the noises muffled, the vision hazy, the skin constricted by the enveloping vapor. It was abysmal.

"Ven mul riik!" His shout was close… So close it caused a tremor of fear to course through Ophelia as she gazed into the sky. The mist floated back to them once more.

"Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?" Hakon shouted as they all closely huddled, anxious as the veil collapsed over them once more.

"Stand fast! His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!" Gormlaith was so positive, so ready to face the World Eater. It was admirable. The woman glanced at Ophelia and nodded to her as an effort to raise her own spirits.

Felldir rallied them all, "His power crumbles – do not pause for breath!"

"Lok vah koor!" The force of their shout caused Ophelia's ears vibrate painfully but it worked and the fog, instead of being pushed back, completely disappeared from the area. An eerie silence overtook them as the spread out, their faces turned to the sky. There was no shout back, only silence.

Then, Alduin, his magnificent wings spread impressively, soared over them, a scream ripping from his maw. Ophelia felt a rush of adrenaline flow through her and she glared at the monster. The one responsible for so much death and destruction. This was it – this was her moment.

As he soared over her she shouted, rendering his flight useless and bringing him to the ground with a loud crash. His slit pupils contracted as he peered at her, ignoring the other three that already charged at him. Her heart pounded nervously as they made eye contact and she rushed towards him, her sword raised. He raised his face to the sky, shouting three unfamiliar words.

As her sword ripped into him ruthlessly and she blasted him flames from her left hand, a vortex opened in the sky above them, spilling spheres of fire indiscriminately over the landscape. Ophelia, being in close proximity to him and being able to take shelter, did not worry herself with it. She hacked into him, not paying attention to his wings beginning to prepare to take flight and when he ascended, she was left unprotected.

Trying to render him to the ground again while avoiding the relentless firestorm proved to be tiresome very quickly, and she became flustered. She shouted to him once, only to be knocked back by the impact of one of the fire balls and miss. On the ground and coughing from the dirt and soot she inhaled, she struggled to find her sword.

As she grasped the hilt, another one slamming into the ground next to her, exploding in a fit of fire and shrapnel. She cried out at the initial burst of fire but did even further as the shreds of material it was made on landed onto her, searing her through her armor. Screaming from the pain and shock, she waved her arms frantically, trying to knock the smoldering material off of her, only burning herself more in the process.

Her whole body ached and her skin burned as she tried to reach for her sword again – disappointed to see it was now gone. Clenching her teeth, she let out an angry groan as she forced herself to her feet and pulling the dagger from her boot. The pain was excruciating. Whatever the fire was smoldering from was even hotter than the fire itself, and all but cauterized her armor to her skin. It wasn't the first time she had experienced such a wound but it was the first time such a wound had covered so much of her body.

Conjuring and using a healing spell in one hand to numb the pain and wielding the dagger in the other, she looked to the sky, where Alduin had taken once more, mocking her in his damned voice. Gasping for air desperately, she searched the sky for him. He hovered over her, tilting his head to the side and ignoring the arrows that were being fired into him. He did not attack, only stared – waiting for something.

She inhaled as hard as she could, ignoring the agony and drawing breath in a way she had never done before. Bellowing out dragon rend, she tried her best to remain standing.

_Pain was temporary Alduin's defeat or victory will be forever._

Calling on everything ounce of strength she could muster, she prepared herself to being her assault on him as he slowly descended to the ground. Once landed, she charged at him, all inhibitions gone. His massive jaws opened as she neared but she dodged them swiftly by diving and rolling in the small space between his jaw and the ground and taking point beneath him.

Gormlaith was on his left flank, Hakon on his right, and Felldir joining her underneath him. Her foot hit something hard and she peeked down, spotting her ebony sword that she believed to be lost. She dropped the dagger and replaced it with the larger blade, slashing it against him as hard and as much as she could, his bitter blood splattering onto her and the ground.

Alduin grumbled, "You are persistent, Dovahkiin. Pruzah ol aar. A fine slave you would have made."

Ophelia's blood boiled at his address and she gripped onto a loose scale on the front of his chest, anchoring herself against him while preparing to stab the full length of her blade into him. It was awkward but she did it and he squawked, recoiling violently.

His scales shifted with the movement of his skin, but she didn't relent. Holding to his chest, she retrieved her sword before stabbing him again. The sword slit through his harsh scales and into his skin, suddenly being yanked out of her hand and further into his body, lodging into what she assumed was his heart.

Ophelia flew through the air as he shook and lunged violently from the pain. Landing roughly several feet away from him, she watched him in a daze as his massive talons reached for his own chest, only to find nothing. He screeched loudly, his body convulsing and tensing.

"Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan!"

While she couldn't understand the language too well, she could understand how he thrashed his head aggressively and a mysterious circle of magic began to surround his entire body. She guarded her face as he reared back and shouted one last time to the air, his body combusting in to a mess of ashen scales and shattered bone. The force of the explosion threw her nearly across the small clearing and she landed against a jagged rock, yelping from the sudden impact, struggling for breath.

As the thunderous clap from the explosion faded into the span of land around them and the mist faded once and for all, Ophelia sat up against the boulder she had landed on and panted. Hakon, Felldir and Gormlaith hollered happily. Rikke and the Stormcloak soldier watched on with a mesmerized daze. Tsun remained at the bridge, arms crossed in a defensive stance.

Alduin, the World Eater, was vanquished.

It took several moments for the reality to set in, but once she accepted the sight in front of her, she was faced with sudden disappointment. Although she was relieved it was over, she had expected it to feel more joyous. She forced herself up to her feet with grave disenchantment.

This is what the Divines wanted her to do?

To follow this treacherous path they lay for her, make her suffer while facing their trials, only to reach an uninspiring end?

In the wake of the transpiring events and unexpected sadness, she cried silently, the tears sliding down her face and falling to the ground without a heave of breath or sob. These were tears of anger… of scorn. Of fifteen years filled with immense effort and little outcome met with the cold shoulder of indifferent Gods that did nothing but use her.

Thirty some odd years of wandering the land and searching for some rhyme or reason as to what she had done to deserve her misgivings. Born to parents that figured a revolution was more important than their own child. Abandoned by her only blood relative for the dark family of Sithis. Survivor of Sariba's beautiful soul, the only person to ever consider adopting her out of the countless onlookers that passed by. Plagued by desires she couldn't reciprocate or even understand.

Incompetent.

Manipulative.

Disgusting.

Not worthy of being of same title of Tiber Septim.

Ophelia placed a hand on the rock next to her and dug her already jagged nails into it. Self-loathing wasn't a stranger, but of all the times it could have appeared – it chose now?

It was a wonder why people even dealt with her at all. Leiv was kept by moral conviction, Lydia by duty, Ulfric by… By…

She couldn't even so much as find a word to describe why he had dealt with her and her nonsense.

Out of everything that wounded her emotionally, the thought of Ulfric alone incited the most rancorous of agony. It gnawed at her from the inside out, clawing at her very soul. She loved him dearly – and believed it to be justified. Although she never said acted on it until Solitude, her attraction to him manifested long before that day. The first visit to The Palace of the Kings left her heated and completely enthralled. Their collaboration for the rebellion had sent her into a whirlwind of deep infatuation. It was arduous to come to terms with, but the memories of their relationship stirred within her a contentment that she knew she would miss.

He was a troubled but beautiful soul. Far too delicate to be lured into a marriage fuelled by blackmail. Besides their odd arrangement, being betrothed to someone who runs off every week or so for divine purpose must weigh heavily – and it wasn't as if she would have been a good Queen either. He would be better-off without her. As she thought about it, she realized she might be better suited to stay in Sovngarde. No responsibilities, no hurt, nothing. She could live out the rest of eternity in peaceful obscurity.

After all, how was she supposed to go back to Nirn? She looked down at her wounded body. Her prized armor was charred onto her and slashed beyond repair; her hair singed and burns ranged all the way from the side of her neck to the length of her legs. Her body throbbed and ached for the release that death brought.

With a sigh of discontent she pushed herself up, trying her best to put everything – emotionally and physically – from her mind. She brought a dirty hand up to her face, where she wiped away the tears that still lingered on her face. Wobbly legs took her back to the mouth of the bridge, where Tsun awaited her patiently.

"This was a might deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever!" His deep voice was light with cheerfulness and his eyes twinkled, although his face conveyed little emotion.

Ophelia couldn't bring herself to respond, the burns on her jaw pulsating fiercely. Instead she remained in front of him in complete silence, expecting him to move to let her through to the giant walkway. When he didn't, and instead watched her with amusement as she kept readying herself to move past him, her eyes flickered to the Hall of Valor, "please let me through."

"I mustn't. Your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting."

Ophelia's mouth dropped with disbelief "you mean… you mean I can go back?"

He nodded, "When you're ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back."

Normally Ophelia would have considered her options with scrutiny, especially since she had just spent the last twenty minutes in accepting her ultimate demise and cursing the nonsensical mess that was her life. She held up a hand, pardoning herself.

"I don't think I should go back. May I stay?"

Tsun shook his head, taking a few steps away from her and inhaled, only to shout at her an unfamiliar phrase. The force knocked her back and as she opened her mouth of protest with a flurry of curse words, she felt her body floating away from the cool ground of Sovngarde and into time and space, returning home.

* * *

As Ulfric neared Windhelm he picked up pace, ignoring the weary glances of his worn traveling companions. He desperately longed to be lulled back into the monotony of daily life as Jarl of Windhelm. If not for duty's sake, just to distract him from the worry and regret that weighed heavily on his soul.

His horse huffed in annoyance at the stable boy who attempted to take a hold of him and greeted Ulfric with a bow. Ulfric, ignoring him, slid off of his horse with ease and began making his way across the large bridge to his city, neglecting the whole of his caravan in favor of simply getting within the walls of the city.

A thunderous tremor shook the thick stone beneath him and he whipped his head around, assuming a dragon was nearby. No dragon reared its head, but far in the distance, at the apex of the giant mountain that was home to the Grey Beards, the clouds ripped from one another and opened a blue maelstrom at the summit. A bright light shot down from the swirling, ashen clouds and another loud crack rang through the air. The ominous cyclone twisted around the beam and lightly touched down on the flat top of the summit, holding place there. All nearby heads turned to the summit in awe.

Ulfric, completely captivated by the scene, didn't notice as Galmar reached his side, panting from his swift sprint across the bridge.

"What in oblivion is that?" Galmar breathed with near terror.

Ulfric didn't take his eyes off of the mountain and shook his head slowly, "I haven't the slightest."

After some time of observing the spectacle, the light was dragged lazily back into the vortex and the swirling mass of gray and blue was drawn back into the sky, the clouds that usually sat atop the mountain returning to their normal white gray cast. A calm silence followed as everyone stood in awe, awaiting any sort of indication as to what it was. Nothing came, and slowly but surely folk returned back to what they were doing, casting wary gazes to the mountain.

"I should go back." Ulfric muttered.

Galmar shook his head firmly, "You're needed here, Ulfric. When she comes back she knows where to find you."

The Jarl looked to his old friend who appeared confident but said nothing else. He was fully aware that Galmar was putting on a show and appreciated the effort, if nothing else. It helped to know that he wasn't alone in this situation.

"You're right." At least, Ulfric hoped he was.

* * *

As soon as the shock of Tsun's shout wore off, Ophelia felt herself return to Nirn. Unlike her journey to Sovngarde, it only took a moment for her to land on her feet in the snow atop the throat of the world. A nasty bout of dizziness took her but with time she regained her bearings and slowly turned, looking for an exit from the summit.

She spun around; spotting Paarthurnax perched upon the word wall, scrutinizing her as he always did. A forceful breeze hit her back and she turned her head to look over her shoulder. Another dragon approached from the side of the mountain – a blue one with large horns. It took point on a smaller peak across from Paarthurnax and looked down upon her with the same scrutiny.

Her trust of Paarthurnax ran deep – perhaps too deep – she knew that if she was in genuine danger that Paarthurnax would at least warn her. The new dragons that appeared and flew around the peak leisurely and landed did not frighten her, but instead gave her comfort.

"Alduin mahlaan!" The ancient language was one she still did not comprehend fully, but she could hear the words were bellowed with joviality.

"Sahrot thur qahnaraan! Mu los vomir!" Another cried gratefully behind her and she watched in awe as it soared free above her.

"Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid!" The use of her title caused her throat to constrict and the reality of their presence sank in. They had come here on their own volition to give her praise. She watched teary eyed as they all settled down at various points around her. Never before in her life had she felt so welcome. It was as if she was surrounded by actual kin.

She turned her gaze back to Paarthurnax, who hadn't taken his eyes of her. Swallowing down the nausea that spawned from the throbbing pain she was suddenly aware of, she walked to the word wall, where he waited for her.

"So it is done. Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been." The tone he carried caught Ophelia's attention and she peered up at his old face. Dragon's were human like but did not carry the ability to express emotion with their face. Their voices were all that was needed.

Her eyebrows furrowed, "you're sad..."

He looked away from her, at the other dragon's that observed them keenly, "Sad? Yes, I am sad. Zaymahi lost ont du'ol Barmahu. Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok – the arrogance of his power."

Paarthurnax quieted before continuing on with further sorrow, "But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same."

Ophelia felt her heart weigh down with guilt. She understood where he came from, in a way. If she were forced to kill Leiv, it would tear her apart. The bond of blood sometimes crossed with morality in the worst of ways.

"I was just fulfilling my destiny as Dragonborn." She didn't know why she even tried to defend herself. She had nothing to defend, and surely Paarthurnax didn't care for the niceties of human guilt.

The distinguished dragon looked to her again, their eyes locking, "Indeed. You saw more clearly than I – certainly more clearly than Alduin. Rok funta koraav. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the vennesetiid… the currents of time."

Another silence fell over them and she breathed out shakily, creating a white plume. As she empathized with him, a ferocious prickle began in her lower stomach, followed by sharp twinges. Passing it off as simple discomfort from the rest of the wounds, she attempted to ignore it by turning her attention back to Paarthurnax.

The sorrow that he conveyed seemed to take much deeper than the death of Alduin. There was something else bothering him, but as she considered asking him, another pain struck her, forcing a wince out.

Paarthurnax looked away quickly, his pupils dilating, "I forget myself. Krosis. So los mid fahdon. Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. Sahrot krongrah – one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of time."

The hurt subsided she bowed her head respectfully at the elder dragon. He did the same and stood high on the wall he had perched himself upon, beating his wings against the oncoming wind – readying to take off. "Goraan! I feel younger than I have in many an age!"

Paarthurnax took to the sky, his massive wings stretching a shadow over where she stood by the wall, "Many of the dovahhe are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen… rightness of my Thu'um."

He banked around the far side of the peak and flew back towards her before hovering directly above her, "but willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!"

With a smile, she watched as he took off once more, ascending into the never ending horizon, the other dragon's following suit, yelling praises of the Dovahkiin… her. Warmth blossomed inside of her chest and she began limping to the descent of the mountain, until another force of wind caught her attention.

Odahviing, the dragon she had captured, swiftly landed beside her, his red scales contrasting strikingly with the surrounding shroud of white. His landing too her by surprise and she backed up slightly, preparing to reach for her weapon.

He spoke then, closing his eyes, "Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein. I wish the Old One luck in his… quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthyrnax's 'Way of the Voice.'"

Ophelia listened carefully as he expressed himself. He opened his eyes again and looked straight at her. "As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. Zu'u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can."

Odahviing did not allow her time to respond as he took off again, following the path of Paarthurnax and the others. Ophelia, still in awe, let out a small huff of disbelief. What a day full of surprises.

She waded through the thick snow and ice, down the path to High Hrothgar, her burns cooled by the wind and snow that fell. Without warning, the sharp pain returned and she cried out from the force of it, keeling over against a nearby wall of rock. Tears came to her eyes as the stinging branched out from her lower torso, through her chest and into her arms.

Looking up through her tear blurred vision; she could see the gates of High Hrothgar just in the distance. She stood as she struggled to draw breath. The gates in the distance opened, and she swore she saw a figure. Her head began to ache and the corners of her vision darkened. Her injuries were far too much for her to handle.

Ophelia pushed herself from the wall and closed her eyes, "laas yah nir!"

When she opened them, an advancing human form was rushing towards her. A pronounced surge of searing agony shot through her whole body again and she keel over once more, losing her balance. Letting out a near scream, she grasped her whole torso and squeezed her eyes shut, trying with all her might to will it away.

Upon opening her eyes, she noticed the small glow that had been residing contently inside of her before she had entered the gateway to Sovngarde flickered treacherously. Letting out a sob, she gripped where the light faded slowly into nothingness.

It was completely gone… not even a flicker. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and the throbbing seemed to ebb away, only to be replaced by all-encompassing distress. The burns that covered the surface of her body didn't even ache as they had done previously.

"Ophelia!" Lydia's voice reached her ears as the figure broke through the nearby fog and rushed towards her.

"Wait!" Ophelia begged as the other woman reached for her and lifted her up. Sobbing pathetically, Ophelia nearly fell back down but was supported by Lydia.

Lydia paused, her eyes wide with shock, "what?"

"I'm… I'm pregnant and I think… I think it died… I don't know…" Ophelia's words came out in short, incoherent sobs.

"It' going to be all right. I'm going to take you to The Greybeards," Lydia explained she bent down, wrapping an arm around Ophelia's charred leg and hoisted Ophelia over her shoulders. Ophelia, barely conscious, let out a noise that was a mix between a sob and another long pained groan as Lydia hurried down the hill, to High Hrothgar.

* * *

I hope you guys enjoy! *hearts*


	9. Chapter 9

Hello all! I am so, so, so, so sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I was doing well but as soon as I reached the 3/4 mark of the chapter, I spilled water onto my computer and it has met it's end. I didn't get a chance to save and I had done a lot of work that day (curse my bad habits) and so I was forced to rewrite and rework the chapter. My boyfriend was sweet enough to let me use his high end gaming PC so I can write. Anyways, with that and some other personal issues, it took me forever to finish this chapter.

Sadly, I don't foresee my computer getting fixed soon so I will be forced to use my boyfriend PC, which is good but I won't be able to invest as much time into it. So I won't be able to update every week. However, I'll try my best.

Anyways~ This chapter is mainly point of view angsty stuff and drama. No smut, sadly. We are getting story progression, though. So that's nice, lol.

Also, I know there's probably quite a few grammatical mistakes and whatnot. I'll fix it, I promise. *hearts*

_Thank you guys soooo much for reviewing and faving and following. It means so much to me!_

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: none, really.

* * *

There was an exceptional serenity that resided in the halls of High Hrothgar. The solitude of the keep, the history and sole purpose of it all provided the sense of wander and enlightenment needed for true self-reflection.

Ophelia hated it.

It didn't take long in her life to realize that she was a woman of impulse – of quick witted and poorly laid-out plans. These plans, since poorly laid-out and never second guessed until too late, often brought about regret. Introspection was something she regularly avoided, as she wanted nothing to do with thinking about her past mistakes. Whether it was her ego or her the childish fear of reproach that prevented her from ever admitting her own faults didn't matter. All that mattered was that she couldn't stand it.

She had been locked up in High Hrothgar for three – maybe four weeks. It was difficult to gauge.

Footsteps sounded through the normally silent halls and she leaned from the large down bed, desperately peeking around the corner of the door. She held her position for several seconds, waiting for someone to enter, only to be disappointed when Arngeir passed by the doorway to her room without so much as a glance. With great disappointment, she returned to her regular position in the bed, curled in the fetal position underneath the numerous furs.

Sleep and drink potions. Sleep and drink potions. Sleep and drink potions.

That was her glorious post-Alduin life so far. Then again, circumstance didn't exactly allow anything else to be done. According to Lydia's account, Ophelia had passed out by the time they had made it to High Hrothgar and they Greybeards immediately worked inspecting her and addressing any major wounds. None of them had experience in relation to childbearing and Lydia was left to trek down the peak as fast as she could to retrieve someone from Ivarstead to help.

Ophelia regained consciousness several days later to immediately be told that she had miscarried. In the wake of the misfortune, Lydia had certainly expected a reaction, but Ophelia, with her head held proudly high, refused to so much as blink at the sad news. It ripped her apart, yes, but her pride was worth more than grieving.

It was only in the early hours of the mornings that she would allow herself to shed silent tears over the fate of the unborn child. Each waking moment, a million self-deprecating thoughts trickled from the deepest recesses of her mind A dozen scenarios that would never play out. A hundred questions with no answers. A thousand wishes that she knew would never be granted.

As she nestled herself further under the covers, she trailed a bandaged hand down to her lower stomach, which was still tender from the recent trauma. Tears prickled at her eyes frustratingly as she once again was sucked into what could have been.

"Ophelia?" Lydia's quiet voice spoke from the doorway and Ophelia quickly brought her face from under the covers as if she had been caught doing something terrible, blinking away the rest of the tears that threatened to fall.

"Hi," She rasped out, barely recognizing her own voice. As she sat up Lydia swiftly moved by her side and smiled. Snow was still caught in the woman's hair and her eyes were red with exhaustion, meaning that she just returned from her second trip to Whiterun.

The pang of guilt hit Ophelia hard, "you don't have to keep coming back here, I'm fine you know…"

"Don't say that. It makes you seem unappreciative." Lydia chastised light heartedly and pulled a very heavy bag onto her lap, undoing the clasps that held it shut and searched through it, "besides, I brought Erandur with me today. He's in the main hall because I figured you would want some privacy to look through these…"

Ophelia nodded and felt suddenly optimistic, excited to see Erandur, "thank you for getting him."

"No problem."

Lydia began as she pulled out a large stack of letters and placed them on the side of the bed. Ophelia eyed them with a mixture of curiosity and disgust and Lydia laughed, "Since word gets around like wildfire in this hold, everyone in Whiterun knows you went to Sovngarde but no one truly knows if you've returned. There are only rumors floating around right now."

"Such as?"

"Such as that you appeared naked at Goldenglow estate… and that one busy body from Windhelm claimed she saw your ghost." Lydia chuckled.

Ophelia actually laughed but recoiled in pain from the tender splits that marred her lips due her countless hours of snoring in her sleep. She picked up the letters gingerly and picked through them, opening some and simply discarding the ones she knew were meaningless.

"I sent Boti the money like you requested."

This piqued Ophelia's interests and she raised an eyebrow, "I have her silence?"

Lydia poured herself a goblet of mead from the table next to them both and nodded, "of course."

"Good." Ophelia couldn't help the stern absolution in her voice. Boti was the only soul in Ivarstead who had some experience with childbirth and medicine. While Ophelia was grateful that the woman helped her in her time of need, she was nervous about letting folks in on her secret. Like Lydia had said, word spread like wildfire in Whiterun hold. Even the fact that the Greybeards knew made her antsy.

The two fell into silence and Ophelia read over several notes, ignoring what just transpired between them both. Most of them were congratulatory, some were confused queries about her well-being, and some were requests for help.

"Did you want me to tell Erandur…?" Lydia spoke suddenly but caught herself from saying something else and Ophelia, jumpy as ever, noticed.

"Hm?"

"I mean – I didn't tell Erandur about the… the…" Lydia's eyes flickered from Ophelia and to the floor several times. Ophelia knew what word she was withholding.

"The _miscarriage_?" The words came out far more menacing than Ophelia had planned, "No… don't tell him. I'll handle it."

It wasn't until she came across the blue bear seal that she stopped. She glanced up to Lydia, who said nothing but shrugged indifferently, "he was bound to start asking where you were."

Ophelia tapped her fingers against the unopened parchment, "does he know about your trips here?"

"Not that I know of…" Lydia shook her head faintly, looking at the parchment as if she expected Ophelia to set it on fire.

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Stalling no more, Ophelia peeled off the seal and opened the thin piece of parchment.

_Dragonborn,_

_There have been numerous reports about your victory over Alduin, the World Eater. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak wishes to meet with you when convenient to celebrate this feat and to discuss further action regarding future plans for your involvement in the Stormcloak movement._

_Regards,_

_Jorleif_

Reading over the letter again, Ophelia was hit with an array of emotions. The first was relief, as it wasn't a personal letter from Ulfric. The second was slight insult… because it wasn't a person letter from the Ulfric. The third was guilt – gut wrenching guilt. She carried his child to its death. It was disgraceful of her.

She folded the piece of paper and continued reading the remaining ones, struggling to keep her appearance even keeled.

After some moments in silence, Lydia finally spoke up, her tone reminiscent of how Leiv chastised her, "you have to let him know sometime."

Ophelia scoffed rudely at the suggestion, "no I don't."

"Relationships aren't based on ducking and dodging problems…" Lydia scolded and Ophelia felt her whole body heat up, "they're based on trust and honesty. Tell him and you two can work through it. He has the right to know what happened."

"He has no right!" Ophelia raised her voice and it echoed off the stone walls intimidatingly. Lydia backed off, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, her head bowed in defeat.

"He has no right…" Ophelia repeated once more in a whisper, clenching a piece of parchment with her burning fingers. Tears threatened to spill but she held fast, determined not to let the other woman see her cry.

Lydia dropped the subject and let the Thane finish looking through her belongings that she had brought from Whiterun. As a calming stillness overtook them, Ophelia laid her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes.

"Do you want me to fetch Erandur?" Lydia stood from her seat so quietly that Ophelia almost didn't notice. She opened her eyes to look at the other woman, who lingered patiently by the doorway.

"Yes. Thank you."

Lydia left the room and her footsteps fading obscurely into the sounds of vicious wind from the outside. Ophelia pulled the furs closer to her body, feeling quite ill of a sudden. Thinking about Ulfric made her feel so sad she didn't even know how to handle it. It was soul-wrenching.

It didn't take long for Erandur to enter, and she looked up at the cloaked figure that stood in the doorway with a slight smile.

"Ophelia," he greeted affectionately from the doorway, his red eyes squinting with his broad smile.

His presence alone was comforting, and she felt her hands tingle pleasantly, "Erandur, thank you for coming!"

"It is the least I can do, darling." He moved to her bedside and sat, placing a hand on her bandaged forearm gently as to not cause her any discomfort, "what happened?"

Ophelia heaved a sigh and closed her eyes, "I had to kill Alduin. I followed him into Sovngarde and met so many lost souls – most of which he devoured – met my gracious ancestors and killed him. Not without a fight though. He charred me, I'll give him that."

He chuckled at her last sentiment and she cracked open one of her eyes to peek at him. He crossed his arms and leaned casually back into the chair.

"I thought I was going to die, so I just… accepted it." She opened her eyes and focused her vision intently on the foot of the bed, recalling the moments after Alduin's defeat. "But they let me return."

"You went through quite an ordeal." He shook his head, "the Divines truly meant for you to be great?"

Ophelia let out a discontent huff, "I suppose."

She looked at him again, he knew something was wrong. He watched her expectantly and patiently, waiting for her to confess to him. She almost didn't – as her pride once again bidding to inhibit her. It was inhibiting, her ego.

"I was pregnant and I miscarried."

Erandur's eyebrows furrowed, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright." Ophelia whispered far too quickly to be sincere, uncomfortable with the sentiment she knew was going to follow, "It was just an unfortunate coincidence."

"Does Ulfric know?"

"No, and I don't plan on telling him."

"Why not, dear?" The Dunmer virtually looked pained while listening to her plot.

Ophelia, finding it impossible to be angry with the elf, "because I don't want him to know. I was reckless with myself and it's my fault that it died. I don't want to put him through that. I'll try to continue our relationship, but he can't know."

"What if he finds out that you did not tell him?" Erandur quirked an eyebrow, "does that not breech the trust of your relationship?"

Ophelia laughed pathetically, "How am I supposed to tell him? Should I march gallantly into Windhelm – _I just defeated Alduin, the World Eater and now I'm ready to marry you. By the way, I killed our unborn child because I was negligent!_ Ulfric wouldn't take well to something like this. He will hate me."

She was ashamed of her fear. Why would she care about what he thought? She was the Dragonborn.

"I don't know him well enough to be able to make judgment, but I do know you." Erandur consoled her by carefully taking her trembling hand into his, "you are fretting too much over his reaction. I do believe you should be forthright with him. If he wishes to continue the relationship, then fantastic. If not, then it's his problem, not yours."

It was comforting to hear, but Ophelia couldn't quell her doubt. She shrugged and took her hand from his grasp, willing away the sheer force of emotions that were readying to spill again. Erandur dropped her hand willingly and clasped both of his over his mouth, sighing heavily into them. "He's strong but also so fragile when it comes to matters of the heart. Sometimes I think that he would be better off just marrying someone else… a young woman of nobility who can fulfil the role with ease."

"What of your political ties? Was I mistaken in thinking that was an integral force behind your relationship?"

Ophelia sheepishly looked down, "well, it is. Although unofficially. I came to him, he didn't come to me. I don't even think he was considering me as a candidate until I brought it up. Which would make the split easier, I think."

"What do you mean?"

She looked into the dark corner of the room, her vision fixed on the shadows that lingered there, "I went to him after we fought for Solitude. Up until that point we had never discussed anything outside of the realm of the War or our mutual experiences with the Greybeards. It was all very formal. But that night in Solitude…" Her words faded off into laughter, a warmness blooming in her chest at the memory.

"I was drunk and coming down from the high of the victory. I didn't think he would actually say yes. I mean, the man is powerful and has access to _literally_ countless women. I didn't take him for the type to take a woman he might be overshadowed by, but I was clearly wrong. Since then it has blossomed into more."

"You love him."

"I do, but it's not beneficial for him. I'm not a virtuous woman, Erandur. I have fought and lied my way through life and I know that no matter where I go and what I do, I'll never change. I know of his demons, and I'm comforted by them because they make me feel better about myself. He's not a bastion of morality and neither am I. But we both have roles to fill, roles that require us to bend every which way to make sure that the world around us doesn't crumble. We're so much alike, and that's why I don't think it's right for me to stay with him."

"You're letting the tragedy of the miscarriage rule your head." Erandur desperately tried to reason with her and she stubbornly shook her head.

"Maybe it took the miscarriage for me to realize that it was doomed to begin with." Her skin prickled from the oncoming anger she felt swelling dangerously. It wasn't unlike her to lose her temper but in light of recent events, she had been on edge far worse than ever before.

Erandur looked defeated, his eyes cast down to the floor, "as a priest of Mara, it is my belief that there is no doom found within love, only salvation."

Ophelia sat tense, her shoulders braced against the headboard. She knew what he meant, but couldn't see through anything other than her pain. It was tough territory to navigate, the motions of loss and regret. Disenchantment and grief.

"I might try to work things out but I still have a good several weeks before I can leave here. Until then I need my privacy from him – from everybody. I need any rumors controlled. Everyone needs to forget about me."

Erandur scoffed, "no one can ever forget you."

"You'd be surprised." Ophelia smirked sardonically, remembering her family and Leiv. Forgetting her seemed to be a relatively easy task. Erandur raised his hand, placing it on top of her head.

"Do not think of such things. You are a remarkable woman." He removed his hand and stood, "I should take my leave, as I'm needed in Windhelm soon for a wedding."

Ophelia observed him as he began to leave her room, "thank you, friend."

"You're welcome."

He left the room and Ophelia felt as if a weight was lifted from her chest. She heaved a loud sigh and placed her palms against her temples to subdue the headache that was forming rapidly.

She missed Ulfric. There was no denying that. His attentions, his voice, his beautifully rugged face – she stopped her thought process. It wouldn't do her any good to lust over the man she was attempting to leave.

Lydia returned to her room, saving Ophelia from her thoughts, "Is there anything else you would like me to do before I leave, my Thane?"

"Keep my location a secret and do not come visit me again unless I call. I think I'll be able to return to Whiterun in due time." Ophelia smiled slightly, her lovely tone an unspoken apology for her behavior previously. Lydia bowed her head and took her leave quickly, leaving Ophelia alone in the eerily quiet room.

After some time of being left alone, Ophelia heard footsteps outside of her door slow to a halt, and Arngeir poked his head in the doorway from the hallway. He offered Ophelia a small smile and let himself in, keeping a distance away from her.

"Very well. Thank you." She kept her answer shot but polite, surprisingly tired from her exchange with Lydia.

Argneir approached the bed and sat in the chair that Lydia did a few minutes prior, and folded his hands in his lap, "do you mind if I ask you something, Dovahkiin?"

"Of course not." Ophelia could only pray that it wasn't related to her miscarriage.

"Who was the father of your unborn?"

Even the question, as delicately as it was asked, stung like an open wound. Ophelia bit her lip and looked at the candelabra on the opposite side of the room, the flames keeping her distracted as she tried to find a way to answer it.

Eventually, Ophelia replied softly, "I don't feel comfortable speaking about it. I'm sorry."

Arngeir bowed his head respectfully and didn't press further, only bringing forth two vials of foul liquid she had been nearly force-fed once a day since she woke. It was something to help numb the slow healing burns and aid her in sleep, two things she desperately needed.

Ophelia grabbed the vials and brought them to her lap, where she ran her fingers over the cool glass, "thank you for helping me. I didn't expect for any of this to happen."

"We are all bound to your fate, Dovahkiin. Your well-being is our concern."

Ophelia pulled the small cork from the first vial and downed it quickly, trying her best to not gag at the bitter liquid as it coated her throat. She coughed lightly and opened the next one, swigging it. After the grimace of disgust left her face, Arngeir took the bottles from her and stood, taking his leave.

Arngeir shut the door softly behind him, leaving Ophelia alone once more. She looked down at the stack of letters that lay next to her, her eyes falling on the blue seal that was so uncomfortably familiar. She picked it up and read it again, a lump forming in her throat.

It was only right that she at least allow him to know she was okay... After that, she could figure out what she wanted to do. But right then, as her eyes grew heavy and her breath became shallow, she knew that any and all action would have to wait.

Pushing the letters aside and sliding back down onto the bed, the contented numbness overpowered her and she slipped back into a peaceful sleep, blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing across the land below her.

* * *

Ulfric had settled back into the daily lull of his duties as Jarl. Ophelia hadn't crossed his mind since he returned to the city until he heard whispers of her return. Two guards openly discussed a rumor of her presence near Ivarstead one morning. He strained to listen in on their hushed discussion, appearing indifferent.

Galmar himself had said that rumors of her being seen entering Breezehome in the early morning hours had reached him, but nothing more. The touch and go nature of the rumors led Ulfric to believe that there was a great possibility of her being alive but she was dodging everyone for a good reason. Setting his selfish desires aside, he let her be, reserving thoughts of her for the late evenings he spent alone, when he could afford to be weak and indulge his emotions.

Meetings and briefings occupied his time. The growing insistence of the Thalmor looming overhead much like a storm cloud. He mobilized his men and was in the process of building new camps, now preparing for invasions from the North coast and the Jerrall Mountains. The Thalmor weren't keen on guerilla tactics like the Empire were. The Thalmor would launch a whole new campaign to get in and kill as many as possible to incite shock, and would then storm his land proudly.

The same tactic they forced upon the Empire.

The weeks passed quickly, new rumors spreading about a coup being attempted in the Imperial city - a coup in the name of Talos. The news brought with it new possibilities. If, for instance, the Empire was to make a formal separation from the Thalmor, it would buy Skyrim and Hammerfell more time to prepare for the invasion everyone knew was coming. Perhaps it might even allow him to enter talks with High Rock.

Much rode on the back of the coup's success…

The Thalmor weren't the only things plaguing his mind. A timeframe had been set for the moot, and while officially no date had been named, he knew it was to be held in Second Seed. Elisif was no longer a concern of his, but he still needed to win the hearts of more than just his nationalistic following. More outreach projects had been made to the Dunmer community of Windhelm, which they accepted warily. They knew it was disingenuous to a point, but wouldn't argue against the help.

A new decree was in the process of being written in Windhelm – one that would finally permit Khajiit entrance into the cities of Skyrim. It wasn't something he was proud of or enjoyed working on, but it was something he knew he had to do for the security of his throne.

The stresses rested upon his shoulders like a great weight. The progressives of the nation still perpetually hating him for the death of Torygg and the ousting of the Empire. The nationalists becoming discontent with the new policies he enacted. No matter what he did – he would never win.

It wasn't until the third week of her disappearance, in the harsh chilliness of Sun's Dusk, that he bitterly commented on her absence to Galmar in the privacy of the war room.

"How many letters have we sent to her residence in Breezehome?"

"Several," the older man crossed his arms, "all of them have clearly been received, but no response."

"Has it crossed your mind to perhaps speak to the person who is taking these letters?" Ulfric bit the words out, angry from the days transpired events. Thalmor representatives had the nerve to enter his city to _speak _with him. No, a letter wouldn't be enough for them, they needed to physically humiliate him.

"Ulfric, you said not to." Galmar groaned and rolled his eyes, "do you not remember that?"

Ulfric hesitated to respond, recalling his previous request with annoyance, "usually you don't even follow my requests word for word, I would assume you would stubbornly go ahead and _try_."

"What if it's her housecarl? Would you have me go and harass the young woman?"

"Yes!" Ulfric snapped, his voice rising threateningly, "I would have you do nearly anything at this point. _Find her_." He hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles became white. Galmar was surprised by the Jarl's sudden outburst of anger but didn't comment. Ulfric watched him carefully, his narrowed eyes almost daring Galmar to defy him.

Galmar bowed his head, "I will try my best."

The commander left without another word. Ulfric watching him with disdain as he stormed from the war room and slammed the wooden door shut behind him, no doubtedly gathering the attention of those in the main hall. He didn't care, though. Let them think whatever they wanted of him, he grimaced and finally released the table, reaching for the tankard of ale he had left on the other side and turned to the small window that was behind him.

He sipped his ale and watched the overcast sky above the palace. Only two dragon appearances had been heard of since Ophelia left for Sovngarde. The lessened sights of the beasts had something to do with whatever she did. He reminisced about their time together in her home and his numerous worries faded into soothing arousal at the reminiscences.

Her face invaded his dreams and he frequently found himself waking in the middle of the night, shocked to not see her resting next to him. He longed to feel her around him again, to sink into her without a semblance of apprehension pestering him. The night in Whiterun was quick, yes, but by far was the most he had ever felt in love. He couldn't think of anything better to calm him.

Her voice calling his name, her hands tangling in her hair, the smooth firmness of her body, her scent, it all overwhelmed him. Consumed by his thoughts, he leaned his forehead against the cold glass in an attempt to stop the tense heat growing within him. _Not now, next time_… The last words they shared echoed in his mind, bringing him back to the somber reality of the situation.

"Jarl Ulfric?" Ulfric whipped his head around to peer at the voice calling for him. It was Jorleif, who was sticking his head into the war room from the main hall.

"Yes?" Ulfric kept calm, his voice eerily unfamiliar to himself.

Jorleif quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything, "the head of the guard is here for the meeting you scheduled."

It took a moment for Ulfric to recall what Jorleif was speaking of, but he nodded all the same, setting the tankard down and straightening his clothing out, a nervous habit of his that had reared its head as of late.

Ulfric walked to the door and Jorleif stepped aside, letting him through to the main hall. Ulfric spotted the man awaiting him at the table and smile politely, pushing all thoughts of Ophelia aside for later that evening. For now, there was work to be done.

* * *

Lydia tiredly stepped through the doorway to Breezehome, her body aching from the rough trek down the mountain and back to Whiterun. Normally the mountain wasn't difficult to descend but the oncoming blizzard changed that.

The warm hearth offered her some comfort but the chilly wind that blew in through the open door negated it. She dropped her weapons and bag unceremoniously to the floor and they fell with a loud clank. Turning around, she reached for the metal handle of the door and began closing it, only to be pushed backwards by an unknown force from the other side.

Lydia gasped and reached down to grab her sword, realizing that it wasn't the wind that forced the door back open, but instead a person. She held the blade up and snarled, "leave!"

The large burly man that stumbled into the tiny house all the way and slammed the door shut behind him, pulling down the cloak that covered his face. Lydia frowned.

"Galmar?"

"Aye." The old man frowned back at her, "Lydia." He said her name with a disappointed sigh, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips. She lowered her blade, puzzled by his presence.

"Can – can I help you?"

"I was looking for Ophelia." He grunted despondently, his tired eyes scanning beyond her and into the kitchen, which was abnormally bare, "I take it she's not here."

Lydia shook her head, "no. She's not – and I would appreciate if you gave me privacy."

"Not so fast." Galmar held up a hand, "I need to know where Ophelia is."

"I don't know where she is." The response came out far too quickly to be taken seriously and Lydia knew it, but held fast, also knowing that Ophelia's rage was something she didn't want to face.

Galmar narrowed his eyes and began advancing on Lydia, "I think you're lying."

"You think wrong." She corrected, taking a few steps back away from him.

"Lass, just tell me where she is." Galmar closed his eyes and shook his head, "I don't have the time or patience for this."

"I'm telling the truth, I don't know." The woman tried to be heartfelt but Galmar clearly saw right through it.

"Bullshit." Galmar advanced towards her swiftly and Lydia panicked, unsheathing her sword and backing up around the hearth. She held it up, her brows furrowed angrily.

"Stay away."

"Oh no, lass. You don't want to do this." He chuckled and placed his callused finger against the tip of the sharp blade, pushing it aside. Lydia, weary and frustrated, lowered it but kept backing away from him.

"Leave me alone!" She cried, "I don't know where she is."

"Then why have you been collecting her things? Why have I heard you've been making regular trips to Ivarstead with her things? Vacationing to the Throat of the World, lass?" He sneered at her, peeking over his shoulder momentarily, "guards!"

Lydia jumped at his call and tried to maneuver around him, to the door. Once at the cool doorway she was cut off by a helmeted Stormcloak with his sword drawn and she withdrew away from him, facing Galmar once more.

"My affairs are my business, old man." She spat, her whole body heavy from exhaustion, "I don't know where she is. I'm just delivering her mail to High Hrothgar where she said she would meet me if she returned."

Galmar's eyebrows rose considerably, "High Hrothgar, hm? Perhaps we owe the old Greybeards a visit."

The woman's eye widened slightly but she stood fast, jumping slightly when the guard behind her seized her arms and bound her wrists together in a rush. She didn't protest, knowing that if she did she would face certain death.

"What are you doing?"

"Arresting you, in the name of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and High King of Skyrim." He answered honestly, moving past her and out of the door.

"Wait! Galmar!" She shouted to gather his attention but to no avail. He was out of her sight before she finished.

The guard that bound her yanked on her arms, motioning towards the door. With a glare she obeyed, her feet shuffling apprehensively out of the house and onto the pavement. Some remaining folk from around the city gathered as the Housecarl was detained and lead out of the city, murmurs of shock sounding around them.

Lydia peeked up at the mountain that loomed over Whiterun. Ophelia wasn't going to be happy about this.

* * *

Ophelia woke with a jolt, incredibly light-headed as she pushed herself from the bed. She sighed in relief as she realized she was in High Hrothgar and not the deep dungeons of Blackreach. Another memory – another nightmare. She shook the remaining images of the hell hole from her head. Cautiously, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and placed her feet against the unforgivingly cold stone floor.

Another two weeks had passed since Lydia and Erandur's visit and Ophelia had become mobile with the help of Arngeir. It was very difficult at first, her legs sore and weak to the point of barely being able to hold her body up, but she managed to spend the last several days shuffling around the keep and even stepping outside a few times.

Feeling particularly energized, she bathed as best as she could and dressed herself in her armor, deciding her second course of action for the day would to be to trek along the nearby path. She knew she was in no shape to actually descend, but simply walking would offer her some sanity.

The soles of her boots clicked against the stone in the main foyer as she limped hastily towards the doors, trying to avoid any of the Greybeards, as she knew they didn't approve of her recent trips out of the keep. She pulled the heavy door towards her body, wincing as the still not fully healed blisters on her hands rubbed against the harsh metal.

A great force of cold met her face when she opened the door, the bright white of the sun reflecting snow blinding her for several moments as she stepped out and closed the door. The icy air breathed new life into her. It was an extraordinarily clear day, no clouds in the sky to obstruct her vision. She swore she could even see the faint grey structure of Windhelm in the far distance. Sitting down on the step, she decided to enjoy the sights before her before taking off on her little adventure.

As she peered over the edge of the nearby cliff, down at Whiterun, a strong pull to return to the world below was felt. A battle had raged within her ever since she regained consciousness. Should she return or was her time in Skyrim finished? Regardless of the question a heavy guilt settled within her. It was her duty to be there with them instead of retreating to her own personal Ivory tower in the peaks of the mountain.

Her hair whipped around her face, the brown locks much shorter than they had been when she left for Skuldafn. An unfortunate reminder of her battle with Alduin. Growing up, people always fawned over her long, thick hair. Even Ulfric had mentioned off handedly that he thought her hair to be beautiful.

She had just returned after the battle for Whiterun, her skin filthy with dirt and mud and her hair wet from the on-pour of rain. Amongst the debriefing and congratulatory words he offered her and the officers, she had taken her hair out of the bun and attempted to braid it. His eyes kept returning to her while she fought with the wet tangles and after the room cleared and she stayed behind he approached her.

'I didn't realize your hair was that long.' He cheekily smirked.

That was possibly the first time he had addressed her informally and she remembered how her face flushed. She didn't think he noticed, given the darkness of the room and the sheer amount of dirt on her face. He neared her and she stood her ground, watching every movement of his with a growing smirk. He brought a hand up to the long plait that rested over her shoulder and ran his fingers down it, admiring it.

'It's beautiful.'

The comment had made her blush and she didn't know how to respond. So she didn't. He was so handsome, so powerful… it all made her woozy…

Ophelia was brought out of the memory by the door to the keep opening. She turned her head and noticed Arngeir peeking his head out of the door. The old man cleared his throat and looked into the distance.

"Dovahkiin, I was looking for you." He took a step out into the cold and joined her on the cold steps, seemingly ignorant of the snow storm that raged around them.

"Sorry, I wanted some fresh air. What is it?" She scooted over to allow him more room for him on the step.

"First, how are you feeling?" He took his time settling down next to her, looking in the direction of Whiterun as she did.

"Much better. Thank you."

"Thank the Divines, Dovahkiin." He corrected her politely.

She chuckled and nodded her head, "I suppose you're right."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence and Ophelia fiddled with her own hands.

"Dovahkiin, I would be lying if I said I came out here to partake in casual discussion."

Ophelia turned her gaze from her hands to the old man's face, which was now wrought with sudden sadness. She didn't know what to say, but motioned for him to continue.

"I was bringing in the offerings left for us and three men came to me – all clad in armor that held the mark of ancient origin. They demanded to know where you were, but I did not answer. They demanded again, and once again I did not respond." He paused, scrutinizing his worn hands, "they attacked me. I had no choice but to kill them."

Ophelia gasped, "when did this happen?"

"Only a few days ago, when you were sleeping." Arngeir answered impatiently and dismissed her unnecessary concern with an impatient wave of his hands. She obliged him and quieted down. "When I killed them I checked to see if there was any indication of who they were and what they wanted with you."

He retrieved a letter from inside of his robes and held it out to her. Shakily, Ophelia plucked the letter from his hands and opened it, reading it silently.

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Ophelia before she reaches Solstheim._

_Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

"Miraak? Who is Miraak?" She groaned angrily, her eyes straining to read over the name again.

"A long time ago, before the lines of Saint Alessia and Tiber Septim, there was another Dragonborn. The First Dragonborn."

"And his name is Miraak and he wants to kill me." She interrupted with a groan and shut the folded piece of parchment, not wanting to even look at it anymore.

"It appears that way, but there is far more to it." Arngeir hushed her and tried to keep her now wavering attention, "if this is the case, then your destiny runs much deeper than the tale of Alduin."

The words sent Ophelia into a sudden, unanticipated fit of rage and she shook her head firmly, "No."

"No?" He asked with surprise.

"Yes – _no_." She stood brusquely, her whole body consumed by the heat of anger that was growing within her.

"Pray tell, what do you mean by _no_?"

"I mean, I'm done with all of this – this destiny bullshit. I did my job, I completed the Gods quest and I'm _done_."

"You're mistaken if –"

"No!" Ophelia bellowed sharply, the word reverberating off of the rocks around them and fading into the distance with a rumble. She reeled herself back, taking a moment to breathe.

"I'm sorry but I don't want to do this anymore." She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips and pacing along the top step, "I have lived every single day of the past two years for the Gods. For you all. For the Blades. For the Stormcloaks. For the citizens. For everyone. And I never asked for it – I don't want it." She bit out the words through her teeth, her eyes burning from the assaulting brightness of the sun and the tears that began to form.

"It is not as simple as saying no and ignore your destiny. You do not have that power." He looked at her as if she was a madwoman. It made her feel sick.

She raised her voice again, "and why not? Is it selfish? Wrong? Evil? Gods forbid I ever chose to do something for myself. And who are you to debate terms of power with me? I am the Dragonborn. I _am_ power."

"You're either misunderstanding or ignoring the gravity of the situation, Ophelia." He rose from the step and joined her on the stone platform. "Your life has never been about choice. It never will. This is the plan of the Gods. From your parent's deaths to the Empire's execution order. All of it was out of your control. You hold no power here – you never have."

Ophelia fumed and took a step away from him, not trusting herself with the proximity. He kept his distance, and a tense but comfortable silence fell between them as Ophelia looked over the edge of the platform, where Skyrim lay before her.

Tears slipped from her eyes as Arngeir's words settled in, sending her feelings spiraling out of control. No power. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme in her life. Setting her thoughts aside for another time to debate the state of her existence, she frowned deeply. It was so simple, hearing about tales of destiny in songs and poems. Reality was always different. Always more complicated…

"I know about the situation with you and Ulfric."

The presence of comfort disappeared without a trace, and was suddenly replaced by anxious apprehension. Ophelia tensed up unintentionally, clenching her fists from the sudden influx of emotion, but she didn't face the old man.

"And…?"

"I think that you should count this miscarriage as a blessing rather than a curse of ill fate." His words were upfront, his normal soft-spoken care gone entirely. These were not meant to be taken as words of comfort, but rather cold hearted declarations.

Ophelia's fist twitched at the suggestion. The death of the one thing she was supposed to share with the man she loved was to be seen as a _blessing_? She blinked several times, chewing on the inside of her lip as she tried to formulate a response that didn't involve her shouting him straight into Oblivion.

"I feel your anger. At least allow me to explain, Dovahkiin." His request was calm, and his staunch tone softened slightly.

"You are the last Dragonborn. There will be no others after you. We do not know the full extent of your calling. We thought, at first, that you would meet your end with Alduin. However, the very fact that you have come back is nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that I am still trying to understand."

"When you returned from Sovngarde, I prayed each night in an attempt to see the purpose behind your Sovngarde but no answer did I hear. I became frustrated and began reading to quell my frustration. Was there something I missed about your predetermined fate? Some minute detail that I skipped over?" His hypothetical questions went unanswered as he continued, "There was. And your destiny now lies within that letter…

"I know what kind of man Ulfric is –"

Ophelia abruptly halted at the words with a sharp laugh and whipped around to face him, her eyes narrowing from behind her disheveled hair, "no you don't."

"I do. I taught him and raised him as if he was my own son." Arngeir showed no contempt, no frustration, nothing. His voice was wrought with regret, "and I know what kind of man he's become. He has forsaken the Way of the Voice. I knew he would. But you haven't… The point is perhaps you shouldn't look at this tragedy as coincidence. I know not what consumed you to join in on his power trip, but I need to step in and request that it stop. You are destined for further greatness. Do not let him and his delusions stop you."

Ophelia listened keenly to his soft words, taking them in slowly. Her eyes found his and she swallowed the lump in her throat, "you're trying to convince me to leave him."

"No," Arngeir shook his head softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and for once, she didn't back away, "I'm trying to convince you to not let his wickedness consume you. Ulfric is… a tortured soul, far beyond redemption. You have far more to do than to cater to someone as misled as him."

"You know nothing about the context of our relationship," Ophelia sniffled from the cold and the oncoming tears, "it wasn't him that came to me – I went to him. Not in the most wholesome of ways, either."

"You wanted to fix him."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A truth. A realization. He had undone her with five words. She let the tears fall without a single sound or word, and looked back out to the landscape. "I love him."

"That might be, but is it this purpose worth that love?"

"What if my destiny lies with him?"

Arngeir frowned, "do you really think it does? He wants you to be Queen alongside him… Does a Queen take leave from her family and duties to fulfil the fate give to her by the Gods in such a delicate political state?"

Ophelia felt like a child again. Lost and confused. The whole of her bizarre childhood rushing back to her once more. Second guesses, much like anything else that had to do with retrospection, didn't sit well with her. It made her irritable. It made her angry. She closed her eyes, focusing on how to cold wind kissed the healing burns that were revealed by the gaps in her armor rather than the growing anger that threatened to explode.

Maybe Arngeir was right. She was already considering leaving him but didn't know if she could do it… Maybe this was the final push she needed to leave. But then what would she do with her life? Fulfil the will of the Gods while miserable and alone?

Forcibly snapping herself from delving too deep into thought, Ophelia opened her eyes and chewed on her lip, admiring the way rain clouds rolled over the plains below in a fury of grey and white.

"What was it?" Ophelia finally said, her voice hoarse from the cold air and the yelling she partook in.

"Pardon?" He took a step closer to her and she turned to face him, unashamed of her tear streaked face.

"What was the _minute detail_?"

Arngeir hesitated, obviously nervous about revealing whatever it was to her. She waited patiently, her arms crossed and her eyes squinting against the harsh wind and sun.

He finally opened his mouth, his voice barely comprehensible above the howling of the wind, "When the World Eater awakens and the virtue of souls is threatened, the Dragonborn must rise. When the sun is veiled and the night is plagued by fear, the dawn-bringer must rise. When the sanctity of man falls and the masters come bearing their whips, a new King must rise. When the first meets the last, a God will rise."

As the wind howled around them, Ophelia's thoughts turned to the words the wise man had recited to her. She clearly understood the part of the Dragonborn – but the others made no sense.

"What does that mean?" Ophelia wanted to hit herself for sounding so stupid, but the words left her mouth too quickly.

"You will find out soon enough." Arngeir pointed to the letter she gripped tightly in her hand still. She looked down at it, the crumpled parchment tempting her to throw herself off the side of the mountain. She didn't want this – not again.

However, with her feet planted flat against the stone, she sighed in defeat, "can you send word for Lydia? I need some things before I go." She turned and swiftly limped past him, ignoring the gleeful smile he wore and making her way straight to the door of the keep.

"Of course, Dovahkiin."

* * *

It had been days since his last exchange with Galmar, and Ulfric had been enjoying his time in Windhelm far more than he had in the past. Ever since the date for the moot had been at least somewhat decided on, things had been running smoothly and for the first time in what felt like an age, people were happy. In winter, nonetheless. It was nice to be hailed as a leader rather than a pariah.

Before the sunrise of the third day since he had last seen Galmar, he woke feeling refreshed and contented. He dressed himself hastily and grabbed something to eat, eager for the days upcoming events. For the next week, he was to be host to his supporters during the war; the Jarls who offered their holds to him, the nobles that sent their money and the farmers that sent their sons and daughters.

It was a solemnly proud event. One of Nord tradition to honor victory and death. Today was the first day, the day the Jarls were to arrive with their guests to stay in the Palace to feast and merriment. And with the moot not far off in the distance, Ulfric finally felt himself relaxing. Although he knew it would not last for long, he enjoyed what he could.

However, as he walked into the main hall, he was cut off by a very exhausted and unkempt Galmar, his already cross expression furrowing deeper as the Jarl neared him in concern.

"Galmar, what is the matter?" Ulfric questioned in a hushed tone.

Galmar said nothing, but grunted and motioned for Ulfric to follow as he moved towards the door the lead to the dungeons. Ulfric, now concerned, followed quickly on his friend's heels.

"What is the meaning of this haste?" Ulfric chuckled as they moved through the narrow hallways and down the stairs.

"I went to Whiterun like you asked," Galmar began cryptically, opening the doors to the Dungeons themselves. "I didn't find… you know who. But I did find the housecarl. I tried to convince her to come with me but she refused. So I arrested her."

Ulfric stopped mid step, his stomach sinking with grave nervousness, "what?!"

"Ulfric don't you dare say you didn't tell me to do this. You want to know where Ophelia is – and this is the only way we're going to find out!" Galmar growled angrily, shoving a pointed finger in Ulfric's face.

The Jarl pushed his friends finger out of the way, "I'll have you know that if Vignar finds out we marched into his city and randomly arrested a woman listed under his service we are – "

"We are what, Ulfric?" Galmar's sarcasm was delivered with an expression of pain. The old man was utterly drained. Ulfric felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn't have sent him on this wild goose hunt for Ophelia.

"Nothing." He shook his head curtly, backing off and waving a hand to let Galmar lead the way once more. He knew when to pick and choose his battles… at least, most of the time he did.

It wasn't until Galmar stopped at the far end of the dungeon that Ulfric finally felt his panic reach an all-time high. Lydia, Ophelia's housecarl, sat in the corner of the dungeon, bound and gagged by makeshift bounds, guarded closely by two young Stormcloaks.

Ulfric sighed and began pacing around the dungeon, not taking his eyes off of the woman. In a way, he was glad she was here. Deep down, he knew Ophelia was back. He could feel it. Her avoidance hadn't made him exactly pleased. He kept face when she scowled at him, not sure of whether Ophelia made the woman aware of any tricks he regularly kept up his sleeve.

"Take the gag off," he pointed to the female guard at the right of the woman and she obliged, yanking the cloth off of the woman's face and throwing it aside.

Lydia worked her jaw for a moment before stating, "I don't know where she is."

"You're dismissed." He peeked up at the guards for a moment, who hesitantly began to leave the sides of the woman and to the doors of the dungeon. "In fact, you all are!" He shouted around the dungeon, gathering the attention of the other guards that kept their distance.

"My lord, are you sure?" One called from behind him. He remained silent, waving away the young man with his hand and waiting for the door to close. Once it did, Ulfric sat down on the bench opposite of Lydia, motioning for Galmar to join him.

"Lydia, it was not my intention to see you here in chains." He tried to keep his tone even, torn in between shouting and laughing from the absurdity of the situation.

"Then keep your dog on a shorter leash!" She shouted at him, glaring daggers into Galmar who only returned the stare in earnest. They looked like two wolves locked in an unruly stand off for dominance. In any other situation, he would have laughed.

"Is Ophelia alive?" Ulfric asked, trying to diffuse the tension that grew between his commander and the housecarl.

Lydia glanced at him before turning her eyes back to Galmar, "I don't know."

"She's lying." Galmar grunted and crossed his arms.

"What evidence do we have that states she's lying?" Ulfric appeared to hold no bias.

"The Imperial blacksmith – Avenicci – said that she had received a letter mistakenly received a letter from High Hrothgar. It said that the Dragonborn was requesting Lydia's presence."

"Have you lost your hearing, old man? There are rumors everywhere about the Dragonborn right now." Lydia spat.

"Bullshit. You just returned from High Hrothgar when we caught you. I had men tailing you all the way from Ivarstead!" Galmar yelled furiously, pointing at the young woman.

"You were _spying_ on me?"

"Only because you have been ducking and dodging us ever since that weird cloud appeared at the Throat of the World!" Galmar shot back, nearing the infuriated woman that's struggled with her bounds.

As the two bickered noisily, Ulfric's thoughts suddenly turned to Ophelia. His heart ached as he recalled how beautiful she looked on the day she left. Her auburn hair shining in the sun, her smile bright and lively. He inhaled sharply as he forcibly returned himself to the situation at hand.

"Shut up!" Ulfric shouted, the force of his voice making the stone walls vibrate ever so slightly. The two quieted down and he looked over them. "Lydia, if you do know what happened to her, I would expect you to tell me."

"I do not take orders from Ulfric Stormcloak, I take orders from the Thane of Whiterun and my Thane told me to bring her mail to High Hrothgar because in case she does return that would be the first place she goes."

Ulfric tensely nodded, "fair enough. Release her, Galmar." He turned his gaze back to the woman,  
"I'm sorry for this inconvenience, as my colleague clearly doesn't understand the difference between opening dialogue and taking prisoner."

Lydia and Galmar both looked at him in shock. However, it didn't take long before Galmar's eyes narrowed as an indication of understanding and he moved to the back of the housecarl, letting her hands free from the offending restraints.

"We can't go around arresting innocent people, Galmar." He chided as Lydia stood to meet him at full height, her chin raised in a manner that reminded him of Ophelia's efforts at defiance. His heart beat painfully at the thought and he fought hard to keep face.

"After all," he began almost cheerily, "Ophelia wouldn't be happy to know that her esteemed housecarl had been arrested by me, would she?"

Lydia cautiously maneuvered around him, slowly making her way to the door, "No, she wouldn't."

One Lydia made it to the door, Ulfric finally spoke up, his voice echoing off the barren room, "However, my guards can arrest a woman disrupting the day of a banquet of nobles in a fit of passion." When the ball dropped, Lydia froze in her spot, slowly turning on her heel. Ulfric ignored the remorse he felt – something he had grown accustomed to doing after years of running a rebellion.

"You wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't. But my guards would."

Lydia sighed, completely defeated, "if I tell you where she is, will you release me?"

So she _was _back.

"Perhaps." Ulfric shrugged, "it all depends on if that woman attempts to disrupt the festival."

Lydia kept silent for a long time and Ulfric let her be, stopping Galmar from rushing an answer from her. He knew it was a delicate promise. After all, they were requesting the woman to go back on the oath she swore to her Thane.

"I know that you are apprehensive about letting me know where she is. But may I remind you that this is not a matter of loyalty but one of morality. She is my wife to be. She agreed to marry me. If, for some reason, she doesn't want to, I have a right to know. Her hiding away does only harm to me." It was a nicely worded truth, but still a truth.

"Let me begin by saying that you did nothing wrong." Lydia started, placing her hands on her hips, "She's at High Hrothgar right now. She's healing."

Ulfric's heart sank, "how badly is she injured?"

"Critically. The Greybeards and I thought she was going to die, for sure."

"What was wrong?"

"She was burned and – and suffering from other wounds." Lydia spoke tightly.

Ulfric felt uncomfortable suddenly, as if something terrible had happened to him yet he didn't even know. He stood still for several moments before speaking up, "I need to see her."

"No!" Lydia cried out suddenly, "you don't. She's healing well, she just needs time. She will return soon enough."

Ulfric was offended by the way the housecarl quickly brushed his concern aside, "You're keeping something from me."

Lydia blink many times, fear flickering through her expression, "I am. But for a good reason."

He studied her. Whatever she was hiding from him was grim in nature. To him and Ophelia. But he could not think further than that, and he turned his gaze to one of the cells that sat unoccupied.

He could not go visit her regardless of what Lydia said, because of the oncoming festivities and eventually, the moot. He had to be present in his city to show that this was not just a grab for quick power. However, he needed to know more about whatever it was that Lydia was hiding, and he knew that if he released her, that she would be gone from his sight for a long time. Ophelia was always good at hiding herself and loved ones.

"Lydia, I'm terribly sorry but I cannot let you go free." He sighed and Lydia immediately made a rush for the door, which after several yanks fell open unceremoniously to reveal the guards that had been dismissed from the room prior. Lydia turned back to him, a huge scowl on her face.

"You're a son of a bitch."

He did not change expression, "you're under arrest for disrupting the peace."

The guards, hearing the Jarls' words, rushed into the room and seized the now profanity spewing woman and lead her to a nearby cell to hold her. Ulfric watched on solemnly.

Galmar placed a hand on Ulfric's shoulder, "Ophelia's going to be vexed with you."

He smirked slightly, looking up to the older man, "that's the point."

* * *

Ever since Ophelia and Arngeir's uncomfortable conversation things in High Hrothgar had been tense. Ophelia had been abnormally quiet due to her newfound existential crisis coupled with the fact that she hadn't been allowed anywhere except the keep itself.

The Greybeards insisted that she not go down to Ivarstead. They wouldn't say why, but she figured it had something to do with the cultist that had now attacked the keep twice. She itched to leave the stone cold keep behind and explore again. Now that her skin had almost completely healed, she would wear her armor around and sharpen the few blades she had with her regularly, familiarizing herself with the actions again.

She took it upon herself to familiarize herself with the Dragon language. It proved difficult, memorizing the alphabet, but the words and phrasing were much like the common tongue in structure and delivery. That along with the numerous shouts she had learned over the past year furthered her grasp on the ancient tongue.

She also took it upon herself to read up on Dragonborn lore, something she had never found the time for. The tales of St. Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, and Talos were all tales that she had heard before. However, thanks to the Greybeard's knowledge and dedication to the Dragonborn's, there were things that she was not aware of.

Alessia had taken Morihaus as a lover. Tiber Septim has assassinated Cuhlecain to secure his position on the throne… then slit his own throat to cover it up. It debased whatever fantastical thoughts she held about them and brought a surprisingly realistic truth about. They were imperfect. Still human. And, from the sounds of it, very flawed.

Perhaps it was immature of her, but the thoughts of them being so imperfect made her joyful – as it took a great deal of pressure off of her. However, she was thrown back into the never ending chasm of her thoughts. Was she supposed to be better than them? After all, she was the last. Surely there was to be something different about her…

"Dovahkiin!" Arngeir shouted from outside of her room. The uncharacteristically loud shout caught Ophelia's attention. She stood from the table she was seated at and walked to the door, opening it and peeking out.

He was swiftly making his way down the hallway, a grave expression on his face. Once to her he bowed his head and tried to catch his breath, "you must go from here. There is a battle taking place outside."

"A battle?" Her eyes widened considerably as she look past him and down the hallway, where the other Greybeards were shuffling around, as if they were preparing to face an enemy.

"Hurry and gather your things then meet me in the courtyard."

"Who is fighting?" She questioned but he ignored her, walking back the way he came.

"I will explain later. Just hurry."

She ducked her head back in the room and began to pull on her armor and boots, fumbling with the clasps but getting it on nonetheless. Her cloak, which rested on the back of the chair, was picked up and thrown over her shoulders, her still loosely bandaged fingers struggling to loop the fabric through the metal clasp like she always did. Once it was on, she slipped her dagger into her book and wrapped the scabbard for her blade around her waist, surprised to see it was far too big for her. She didn't realize she had lost so much weight.

It didn't take long for her to gather any other belongings she had, as her bag, still scorched from the journey to Sovngarde, hadn't been touched much. She yanked it over her shoulder and left the room, gingerly jogging to the doors that led to the courtyard. In the main hall she heard the clashing of magic and steel on steel. She eyed the main entrance, desperately wanting to step outside and quell or join the fight, but knew she couldn't and opened the doors to the courtyard, where Arngeir awaited her.

"You're here, good." He breathed in relief and motioned for her to come near him.

"Who is fighting?"

"The cultists are back, but a group of Stormcloaks followed them up the mountain, presumably because they know you're here."

"How do you know that they know I'm here?"

"Because of this," he procured a letter and handed it to her.

She opened it, her eyes scanning over the words quickly.

_Dragonborn,_

_I was called to Windhelm for a wedding and since I came here, I have heard that Lydia, your Housecarl, has been arrested by Stormcloaks for some reason and is being held in the Palace of the Kings. Please respond quickly so I know what to do._

_-Erandur_

"By the nine…" Ophelia breathed. Ulfric arrested Lydia. What in Oblivion happened?

"You need to leave here and find a place to recuperate further."

"Okay." She nodded once, putting the letter in the pouch on her hip and preparing to take off, "I can ride Odahviing to my hide out. Thank you for everything, Arngeir."

Arngeir bowed his head, "it is my pleasure, Dovahkiin. However, no gallivanting can take place until you heal properly. Also, remember to stop by often. You will need to for your next quest."

"Of course."

Arngeir said his final goodbyes and Ophelia wordlessly obliged him, running past him and into the flurry of falling snow that was falling before the gate that lead to the top of the peak.

As she ran, she felt completely invigorated. It was as if she had been reborn, and the giddiness that swelled within her was unmatched by anything she had experienced before. She was alive, and this is what she was meant to do – to run through the wilderness and to fight.

At the summit, she wasted no time, "Odahviing!" She shouted into the dark sky, the force of her Thu'um causing gooseflesh to spread over her aching skin. It was amazing.

After a few seconds of pacing along the snowy path, waiting for an answer, Ophelia heard the force of wing against wind, and soon the great red dragon that had submitted to her swung down from impossible heights, making a surprisingly graceful descent in front of her.

"Dovahkiin! We meet again." His voice rumbled over the clouds and through her chest.

She smiled, "Aye. I request a favor from you."

"What is it?" He tilted his head to the side, his eyes boring into her mercilessly.

"I need to get off the mountain by my normal way is off. Would you mind letting me ride you on your descent?"

The old dragon hummed with thought, "of course. Where would you like me to take you?"

'_However, no gallivanting can take place until you heal properly.'_ She recalled Arngeir's words to her and hesitated. Maybe he was right. She was in no state to fight. But she needed to help Lydia. Gods only know what was going through Ulfric's mind since she had been gone.

"Windhelm." She answered finally, the excitement of disobedience rushing through her. She would be lying if she said she didn't want to see Ulfric again.

"Very well, Dovahkiin." He bowed his neck down, allowing her to climb upon it.

Once seating firmly against his neck, she held on, bracing herself for the flap of giant wings which followed soon. She had never felt more alive as Odahviing took off through the thick clouds and over the white landscape of winter laden Skyrim. Faintly, in the North East, she could see the giant stone structure that she needed to get to.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello all! Thank you so much for your patience and feedback! :)

This chapter was so much fun to write and I've already started on the next one. Eeee!

I know it sucks that I'm getting these out at a slower rate, but they will be longer chapters, I promise.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Mentions of smut and violence.

* * *

As Odahviing soared over the barren winter land that was Northern Skyrim, Ophelia felt her excitement reach near impossible heights. Flying felt so right to her. The freedom of the sky did not give her a mere fleeting sensation of happiness but rather released a deeply buried nostalgia from unknown origins. It was simply intoxicating.

They neared the stone walls and Odahviing flew higher – inside of the low-hanging clouds as to avoid detection, "Dovahkiin, would you like me to assault the city?"

She gasped from shock, "no, no! Land somewhere near the city… Far enough to not be noticed but close enough to walk to the city."

The dragon hummed as a response before taking a sharp left turn in the air. Ophelia grabbed onto the ridges of his back, suddenly terrified of the drop that presented itself to her right. Thankfully, the distorting position didn't last long as Odahviing reoriented himself and began descending over the small town stead she recognized as Kynesgrove.

The people who were in sight ran away, terrified by the sight, but no guards were to be seen. Odahviing glided beyond the village, behind the trees and with a firm jerk drew his wings back, hovering over a dragon grave. He sank into the crater, his feet hitting the ground with a crash, sending a shockwave through the glen.

Once Odahviing drew his wings up against his torso, Ophelia let go of the ridges on his back, sliding awkwardly down his body. She hit the ground with a thud, wincing from the contact but quickly standing and jogging to Odahviing's front.

"Is that all you need of me, Dovahkiin?" He grumbled pleasantly, his eyes searching nearby for anyone else.

"No, Odahviing. Thank you." She bowed her head as a thank you and he returned the polite gesture, flapping his wings and taking off once more into the sky. She watched him as he disappeared into the clouds, no sound being heard other than his wings breaking through the windy day.

Once he was gone, Ophelia glanced around the old burial site. This was where Alduin raised Sahloknir. She blinked a few times, wanting to chuckle at the near coincidence. What an odd time for her, she thought amusingly.

Her reverie was broken when she the distinct rattling of chainmail and beating of boots on the ground grew near. Shouts were heard from the slope that lead up to the grave and she jumped, darting into the nearby brush to avoid being seen. As she submerged herself in the bushes she pulled at the face-veiling cowl that was attached to her cloak. If she was to get caught, she couldn't afford having her face seen, as nearly everyone in Windhelm could recognize her as Stormblade or Dragonborn.

"Do you see anything?!"

"No. It must've taken off!"

Ophelia peeked through to the clearing, spotting two Stormcloaks scouting the area with their weapons drawn. They paced along the crater, their heads turned to the sky inquisitively. She took advantage of their distracted attention to sink further into the wilderness, until she was forced to the very edge of the tiny bluff that dropped off into the back yard of one Kynesgrove homes. Turning carefully, she looked down at the drop off – which was no more than her own height – and scaled down it carefully, not wanting a repeat of the rough landing she experienced from Odahviing.

Her feet making a quiet thud on the damp ground, she descended behind the home. She stood and tugged at the corners of her cowl, making sure it was in place as she made way to the cobblestone road that peeked from the corner of the house.

The path was fairly empty, save a few Stormcloak soldiers and locals who were still panicking from the all too recent dragon spotting. One in particular noticed her walking away and eyed her carefully. She knew why. It wasn't often masked folk went drifting through town steads with good intentions. She ignored the man's wandering gaze and walked past him swiftly and without so much as a glance.

Thankfully, it didn't take her long to get to the raging semi-frozen frozen river that ultimately led to the grey towering walls of Windhelm. The sight made her heart skip a beat. It felt so surreal – finally being able to return to the land. It took her all her might not to skip through the city and to the man she so longed for in the Palace. The same man that arrested her best friend and confidant. She swallowed thickly, suppressing the nauseating worry that bubbled up and returning to her hurried pace down the path, straight to the stone bridge.

There was an unusual crowdedness of the road by not only patrons but by carriages and guards alike. A cart rushed by her, carrying several well-dressed young women wearing fatigued expressions. One in particular cast a suspicious glimpse Ophelia's way, which Ophelia responded to with a respectful bow of her head. The young woman turned her nose up at the generous expression. Once out of sight Ophelia risked rolling her eyes. Nobles…

She was then suddenly aware of how the bridge was swarming with folk from all reaches of the land. If she had not been wearing the cowl, she would have surely been recognized by most folk. Soon, she found herself immersed in one particularly rowdy group of parties, all of which were moving in the same direction – towards the wide open doors of the city, which was already teeming with a seemingly endless sea of people.

What in Oblivion was happening? She watched keenly for any sign of recognizable Stormcloaks but none showed. Only young recruits and old officers appeared in the mass of people, all smiling and cheering. Upon entering the gates of the city she took note of the massive new Stormcloak banners that donned the stone face of Candlehearth Hall and the shorter banners that lined the walls and fronts of buildings.

_This is a celebration._

She stood at the base of the Inn's stairs for some time, the loud bustling of people allowing her some time to think of her next actions. Could she to enter the hall? Surely they would recognize her or at least spread word that a mysterious woman covering her face had entered. Her eyes darted to the right, where beyond another fast moving crowd of enthusiastic young folk moved under the refurbished banners of the Grey Quarter. Biting her lip, she entertained the idea of staying in the Grey Quarter. At least with the Dunmer she knew she had secrecy. They weren't keen on letting Ulfric or other Stormcloaks in on any of the going-ons in that part of the city. Opting to at least scope out the area, she began towards it, slithering between people until she stopped right at the descending steps.

It was then that she halted mid-stride before her eyes widened with sudden realization. Hjerim. She forgot about Hjerim. Reaching into the bag that rested against her hip, she felt around until her hand landed on a severely wrinkled envelope that held a large metal key. Pulling it out, she turned on her heel and made her way back through the celebrating crowd and to Valunstrad.

She rounded through the lively marketplace, rolling her eyes as she heard Hermir gushing over Ulfric. Did that young woman ever take a rest?

"He accepted the sword I gave him yesterday evening and even kissed my hand as a token of appreciation. That man is a true Nord – a perfect Nord!" Hermir's voice faded with distance and Ophelia rolled her eyes. If only people really knew him, she thought grimly.

It didn't take very long for her to maneuver down Valunstrad, the district being far less crowded than the more heavy traffic areas of the city. There were only a few souls wandering around the snowy street, most of which were residents chatting amongst themselves. She moved past them and turned into the gates of her unoccupied home. She peeked over her shoulders, grateful that the few people who were present didn't even glance her way as she unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The home was, as she expected, completely deserted. Only a dull light filtered in through the slit windows, and that alone wasn't nearly enough to illuminate the grand expanse of the abandoned house. She inhaled shakily, an odd emotion finding her as she entered the home she was born in.

Records were hard to come by in Skyrim and given the state of her family when she was a child, she had no clue of her origins until she came across an old ledger in Weynon Priory – one stating the names of the children that were left there during the war.

_Leiv Highlander – b. 4__th__ E 161 – Hjerim, Windhelm_

_Ophelia Highlander – b. 4__th__ E 168 – Hjerim, Windhelm_

_Son and Daughter of Ingvar Highlander and Sif Free-Winter._

She was overcome by sadness then, as she slowly slipped the veil from her face and cowl from over her head, pacing around the first floor. What would life had been like if her parents didn't die? If they had survived, come to retrieve her and Leiv and moved back to Windhelm? Would she be some sweet soft-spoken noble girl? Would she have taken up a craft other than fighting? Would she still be the Dragonborn? The thoughts made her miserable, but offered her some solace. This was where her parents lived. This is what little remained of them and that was enough to form a comforting warmth in her chest.

Tears formed in her eyes and she dropped her knapsack, taking a seat next to it as she tried to stop the oncoming onslaught of emotion. Then again, she was by herself, so it didn't matter if she cried…

It was then that a nearly silent whisper reached her ears. It wasn't a voice, but rather the hiss of blade cutting through air before her. Her eyes widened, skin prickled uncomfortably and her heart pounded in her own ears. She felt as if she had slipped into dream and was only brought back by the disturbingly familiar cold edge of a newly sharpened blade kissing the delicate skin of her neck. Her hand grasped at her hip for the hilt of her blade instinctually, but a new insistence from the blade forced her hand to halt.

"Don't."

Her eyes widened further as she recognized the voice, but knew that the carrier of the voice didn't seem to recognize her. With great determination to remain still, she clenched her teeth and hissed through them, "Leiv."

The pressure from the blade let up, but its presence lingered. The man circled around her, the tip of the blade trained on the pulsing artery that lay beneath her skin. It was nauseating. She laid her eyes on him, the darkness of the room seeming to meld with the pitch black edges of his armor. His face was covered, causing her stomach to lurch anxiously.

"What are you doing down here?" There was an uncharacteristically stern edginess to his voice. It wasn't often Leiv let anything bother him. Ever.

"I'm here to rescue Lydia." Her honesty seemed to placate him and he removed the blade from his throat, sheathing it. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding before standing as quickly as possible, her hand still touching the hilt of her blade.

Leiv watched her as she stood, the hand that carried the blade summoned a ball of light, which he shot onto the ceiling. She watched as it floated gracefully and stuck to the wooden beams, illuminating the whole room. It took her several moments to adjust her eyes to the new light, but eventually all evened out and she peered around the room.

A chair, a chest, an upturned table across the way, a few dressers… all looked fairly normal for an abandoned house. Then her eyes caught it. Dried blood streaked from the front door to the far end of the main hall.

The worst case scenario finding her, she gasped accusingly and her back straightened as she looked at her brother, "Did you…?"

He shook his head, "No! I didn't. Follow me." He moved to the steps, where he ascended two at a time and she hesitantly followed, her gaze turning back to the blood stains several times before they disappeared with the view of the first floor.

At the peak of the steps he waited for her and led her into an off-shoot of a room, one with a bed roll, bag and a dimly lit lantern. He ushered her into the cramped space and she obeyed wordlessly, her heart still beating rapidly from the unexpected encounter. Once inside she sat on the edge of the bed roll. He joined her at the opposite end, pulling his cowl back and fiddling with the lantern.

"You've been squatting in my house? You have some explaining to do, brother."

"And you don't?" He snapped quietly, the now bright light emanating from the lantern dancing across his face. "The blood wasn't spilled by my hand. There's a murderer that's been operating in here but after I showed up I think he didn't gather the nerve to return. This whole damn banquet shit has been taxing on keeping my presence unknown."

"Yeah – what's happening in this city, by the way?" She cut him off with the harsh question, pulling her own hood form her face.

"A party honoring the dead. I forgot what our kin call it officially, but it's a week-long event – or so I think. I never know what the fuck Nords are doing." He bitterly spoke as he pulled out bread from a nearby crate and began eating it.

Ophelia's stomach rumbled noisily as she watched him eat, "what's got you uptight?"

"You." He stated flatly, tearing off some of the bread and handing it to her. She took it and ate it as quickly as she could, grateful that her appetite was returning. "I've been running around, tying up loose ends for you while you leisurely lay in bed all day at that damn fortress. I have a full time job, you know."

"You wouldn't even understand what happened to me, so don't go around judging me for _healing_." She grimaced with a mouthful of the stale bread, "and what loose ends? I don't remember leaving any."

"Ulfric. Galmar. All of the damn Stormcloak army. Every time there's a new rumor about your presence he sends his men to investigate. At first I was just racing every envoy he would send to make sure you weren't actually at the location. But then I saw Lydia on the road in Ivarstead and followed her up the mountain." He grumbled and stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning his head back against the wall, looking at the shadows on the ceiling. She looked up with him. "I saw you and everything went from there. I tried my best to keep him off of your trail, but it was only a matter of time."

The tightness in Ophelia's chest loosened as he spoke. He was actually concerned for her. He didn't even know what happened to her in Sovngarde and yet he tried his best to help… Her eyes found his face. Perhaps it was the shadows, but he looked so tired. She felt the sudden urge to hug him, but knew it would only draw awkward mockery from him.

She cleared her throat, looking around the room – anywhere but the face of her only blood relative, "thank you."

"Finally." He sighed sarcastically and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Hm?"

"I was awaiting your thanks. That's all I wanted to hear." He was being sarcastic, but she was far too tired and guilt ridden to stop him. She deserved to be mocked, she figured bitterly.

"So… Did you eavesdrop while you were at High Hrothgar or did you just see me and bolt back down the mountain?"

"Can I say I eavesdropped and _then_ bolted back down the mountain? Because that's what I did."

"What all did you overhear?"

He smirked, "enough to know that you have a good reason to avoid Ulfric."

She pursed her lips and looked to the lantern, trying her best to contain the shame and rage she felt. Now wasn't the time to let her pride rule her head. "Good. That saves me a step in this explanation." She sighed, her fingers rapping against the wooden wall repeatedly, "I need to get Lydia from the dungeon and leave. All while undetected."

"I can't help you." He replied hurriedly, "Remember, I said I was on a job? I can't afford to be caught."

Ophelia groaned, "Who are you killing this time?"

"I'm _taking care_ of a delightful Elf who is trying to kill your fiancé… or ex-fiancé." He chuckled oddly at the end of the sentence before sobering up, "there's a Thalmor agent among the festivities that's trying to assassinate Ulfric and Galmar. Someone – I don't know who – but someone knew about the plan and doesn't want them dead. So they contacted the Brotherhood. I know who I'm looking for. Haven't found them yet."

Ophelia felt her stomach drop at the suggestion of either of the men dead and fought to remain calm, "You need to stop this person."

"Oh, I will. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." He beamed scathingly and rubbed his temples out of frustration.

Ophelia curled her legs up underneath her, peering in between the wooden planks below her, "I need to find a way to get Lydia. I can't leave her behind like this."

"Leave her behind? Where are you running off to?"

"I'm sure you know about this Miraak figure wanting to kill me?" She began and he nodded reluctantly, "I'm going to kill him before he gets another chance to kill me – which means I have to go to Morrowind. I don't plan on taking Lydia with me, but it's not exactly proper form to leave her in a dungeon." Ophelia wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.

"The only reason Ulfric locked her up was to lure you down here. If you try to get Lydia, he's going to have every conceivable trap waiting for you."

Ophelia laughed, "I know he arrested her to lure me but I doubt he is clever or underhanded enough to try to trap me."

"I wouldn't be so sure. He's quite taken by you, and he doesn't seem like the kind to give up."

"It doesn't matter." She shook her head firmly, "I'm going to free Lydia, kill Miraak and then… then I'll…"

"You'll what? Live out your life, free from obligation and what not?" He scoffed again, irritating her. "You're the kind of person that is never free from obligation because you never say no."

"I try to say no and fate dictates otherwise."

"Ah." He quirked both of his eyebrows up in mock amusement, "fate, the fickle mistress. Forgot about your whole destiny thing. If you want to continue to do it, I cannot stop you… But I also will not follow you all across Nirn and into the depths of Oblivion. My familial duties don't extend that far."

"I don't need you to follow me." She snarled suddenly, losing control of her temper, "I can do things on my own."

"Then why come to me for help now?"

"Because this is the one time you happen to be here. It's not like I sought you out. This is _my_ house, after all." The snarl didn't let up and her face flushed.

Leiv shrugged, "Fair enough. I was just giving you a warning."

They became quiet again, Ophelia trying to calm herself down and Leiv eating away at food he procured from the crate. She watched him carefully. Nonchalance – that was his game. He rarely found himself caring about anything and when he did, he refused to show it. At least in a normal way.

"I have a few invisibility potions. You could slip in and out that way…" He muttered as he gazed into the lantern, lost in thought.

Ophelia, taken aback by his sudden suggestion, only replied with a grunt. She wasn't keen on just waltzing in, invisible or no. While she knew that she could get away with simply freeing Lydia, even in the presence of guards, her biggest obstacle was recognition. If she walked in and did so without covering herself, obviously they would rat her out to Ulfric or Galmar. If she walked in, shrouded in mystery, she would instantly be questioned… or at least talk would get back to Ulfric or Galmar and she would be found in a minute. If she could get in covered but at least blend in, then she would be fine…

"A disguise." She uttered suddenly, looking to her brother excitedly. She released her legs and stretched them out, scooting closer to the lantern.

Leiv raised an eyebrow, "pardon?"

"If I dress in Stormcloak armor – the full getup – then I can get in and out without being questioned or recognized."

"This is a public event, Ophelia, guards aren't going to be just walking around the Palace in full garb. Every guard will have its place and every place will have its guard."

"Then I can go ahead and dress up as one tonight, sneak into the Palace to find a roster or something and then I can change it!" She nearly cheered. Positivity flowed through her. This was the first thing in a long time the finally make sense.

"What are you going to do about this?" Leiv's voice raised several octaves and his pitch was almost girly. Ophelia didn't pick up on the reference and shook her head, her brow furrowed deeply.

"What do you mean?"

"Your voice, dumbass. You have a Cyrodilic accent. It's not going to go unnoticed even around all those meat heads."

Ophelia, rather than becoming cross with him, actually understood where he came from. She wasn't native to Skyrim and had managed to avoid the land until a couple years prior. Accents were finicky when it came to Nords. Eastmarch accents were by far the strongest Nord accents out there and lo and behold most Stormcloak's were born and raised in Eastmarch.

Her own accent was Cyrodilic in nature. It was a widespread accent to all holds of the Empire. Pulled taunt, delivered curtly or formal when need be. Nords that did share her accent were often associated with the Empire and were watched carefully in Stormcloak ranks.

"How about this?" She lengthened her vowels, almost singing them, her pitch lowered considerably and her mouth contorted to pronounce the words in the accent she had heard frequently.

Her imitation of the common accent earned a heartfelt laugh from Leiv, "I… don't know?"

"It couldn't have been _that_ bad!" she cried, embarrassed by her brother's mirth.

"It wasn't. Your face looks so stupid when you talk like that."

"Well, I'll be wearing a helmet, they won't be able to see my stupid face." She used the accent again, determined to get used to it before the festivities that were to happen over the next day.

"Good." His laughter died into an amused groan and he rose from the ground, his eyes fixed on the door, "how are you going to sneak into the Palace?"

"I have a way." Surely Galmar and Jorleif would be too paranoid to let Ulfric sleep in his normal room, which meant that it was empty. If not, she could find other ways.

"Fantastic." He began towards the door, "I'm going out. Stay in here and get some rest, you look dreadful. I'll come and fetch you this evening." And like that he was gone. His silent footfalls leaving nothing but flying dust and a very confused Ophelia in their wake.

* * *

Ulfric lay in bed, his body warm despite being nearly naked. It wasn't often that the Palace was too warm for his liking. Even in the summers it would keep cool just enough to ward off those that weren't accustomed to it. A Nord's burden, he figured.

The day's events had worn him out and he stumbled into the room not an hour prior, flushed and inhibited thanks to his drunkenness. The festivities had kicked off that day, with a great bulk of Nobles and common folk arriving. Those with invitations were invited to stay in the Palace of the Kings, those that weren't looked elsewhere in the city to stay. Most had family already within the city walls and wouldn't have to concern themselves with the teeming inn.

He looked over to the mantel above the sweltering fireplace at the banner that hanged from the valance on the ceiling. It was so unlike the ones that he had invested in for the beginning of his cause. These were new, improved banners that sung the serenade of the Stormcloak's victory over the land. The snarling blue bear presenting the black tribal mark on its face proudly lay upon a gray background, intricate golden knots scrolling along the edge. The new banners had been sewn and dyed not a week prior, and had been displayed as proof of his people's perseverance. But the one in his chamber was different. It was the same concept, but the bear donned a stylized silhouette of the Jagged Crown.

Jorleif had insisted that he wait to display this one. _It might be in poor taste to show arrogance_, the man had said. He smirked lazily at it, a drunken pride swelling within him. No one thought he could do it. Not even he thought so himself. His smirk faded, Ophelia held faith in him throughout the entire ordeal.

A terrible ache grew within him and he tore his eyes from the banner. Gods, did he want to banish all thoughts of her from his mind. But he couldn't. Every day he woke with hopes that she would come to him and every day he went to bed disappointed. He would dream about her sometimes. Living together in Solitude as King and Queen. Ruling together, making love, dealing with children. He scolded himself for such dreams. He was a man well into adulthood, not some lovesick boy.

Running his hands down his warm face, he rolled out of bed, knowing that the thoughts would not relent until he sought out help. He slipped on as little clothing as acceptable and threw his fur coat over it, leaving his room in a rush.

"My Lord?" The head of his personal guard asked as he opened the door.

He looked at the tired young woman. Gerda was her name… Or was it Gerder… Or Gretchen…?

"Gretchen." She answered the wordless question for him with a sweet smile. Her helm was off, revealing her stringy black hair and rounded face. He took a moment to eye her as she turned to face some commotion from the end of the hall. She was a pretty lass, he noticed. Tall and well-built yet still blessed with the well-endowed femininity that most Nord women had.

Like Ophelia.

He snapped out of his reverie when she turned around and he probably would have blushed if his face wasn't already red from the alcohol.

"Is there a problem, your highness?" The title was something he was still trying to get used to.

He shook his head, "no, lass. I'm going to step out for a bit is all."

"Would you like me to accompany you?" The young woman's face lit up and she smiled. It was endearing, but Ulfric shook his head firmly to decline.

"Not tonight. Thank you, though."

Gretchen nodded obediently and stepped aside, letting him through. As he left her, his thought wandered back to Ophelia and he cursed himself. That blasted woman would be the very end of him. Guards littered the hallways and steps of the Palace, worried about attacks or attempts on Ulfric's life even in the dead of night.

"Where are you running off to?" Galmar chuckled as Ulfric swiftly attempted to leave the war room, fully aware of the Jarl's alcohol intake from earlier in the night.

"I'm going to pray." Ulfric declared, perhaps a little loudly, as he threw open the door to the main hall and stumbled out, thankful that no one seemed to notice.

His head felt a mile wide and he didn't notice Galmar's protest as he walked down the side of the main hall with great determination. He was a pious young lad, and remembered praying frequently for his family's well-being, for strength, for love, for guidance, for what have you. Yet as the years wore down on him and he decided to leave the side of the Greybeards, he noticed that prayer didn't help much and at times it felt as if he was crying out to nothing. With the war, he had made a point to regularly go to the Shrine of Talos in the city, if not for simple consolation, then to keep up appearances.

As he entered the temple, he was first hit with the distinct scent of incense. It was a favorite among the priestess and priest that watched over the shrine, and he hated it. The pungent smell invaded his nostrils and brought upon a sneeze, which he had trouble stifling. The loud noise echoed through the hall, catching the attention of the few people who did occupy it.

He bowed his head politely, cursing himself inwardly for not being able to control himself better. After the others returned to their prayer or quiet conversations, he walked down one of the side aisles and to the front bench, where he sat and clasped his hands in his lap, contemplating.

He didn't know what to pray for. Strength? Help? Ophelia? It all seemed so hopeless to him. He sighed quietly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and peering up at the statue of Talos. Was this what his life was really meant to be? A constant struggle for peace and serenity that never came to fruition? The notion made him uncomfortable.

"Ulfric?" A kind, feminine voice reached his ears and he turned his gaze away from Talos to his right, where a tall, cloaked woman stood, patiently awaiting his response. His eyes went round as he realized who it was and he felt his already drunken state of mind worsen.

"Ursa!" He called out loudly again and he hushed himself, looking around at the annoyed faces of the temple-goers. He whispered a soft apology before looking back at his sister, who was taking a seat right next to him.

"Good to see you!" She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He placed a hand on her wrist, not sure of how to proceed with greeting her. It had been… what... eight – ten years since he last saw her?

"It's been a long time." He murmured quietly, being sure to keep his voice to a whisper to not offend anyone else.

"It has." She pulled the hood down, revealing the full head of curly blonde hair that sat upon her head. Her smile was warm, the crow's feet at the edges of her steely blue eyes deeper than they were when he had last seen her.

"Ulfric…?" She began again, concern shown in her smile.

He shook his head suddenly, not realizing that he had sat silently for several moments. His sister laughed lightheartedly at his apparent frustration, "Brother, you're drunk aren't you?"

Ulfric nodded, his expression guilty. He furrowed his brow and looked back to the Shrine, "I'm sorry I didn't try to contact you. I've been very busy."

"I can tell." She smiled again, not taking her eyes off of him, "partaking in a civil war must be exhausting."

"It is." He admitted clumsily with a short laugh, "I didn't contact mother… or Johan for the longest time… Met Johan's young ones, though. They came to fight for me." It was solemn, really. He knew Johan was a far more honorable a man than he could ever be, and disapproved of the war. Yet Ulfric's push for enthusiasm among young men and women rubbed off on his niece and nephew.

"Rikard and Agny." Ursa reminded him.

They both came to him directly, without the consent of Johan or their mother. Not a day over twenty, both of them, and already so willing to join his cause. They didn't even want special treatment, they just wanted to fight. Who was he to deny that?

"How have you been?" The question was forced, but only because he needed to prevent more guilt from finding him.

Ursa chuckled softly, "I've been well. There have been increasing calls for my services, thanks to you."

"Good calls or bad?"

"I don't think there are good or bad calls." She shrugged, joining him in staring at the shrine, "Talos is the God of war, and war brings about pain alongside glory. It's just nature. My job is to enlighten and comfort, and people need that during war."

Ursa was a priestess of Talos. She was a few years younger than Ulfric, and had always been interested in the Gods. When the war started, she made her vows and entered priesthood. Father adored her for taking that path, Mother… not so much.

"You've aged twenty years in ten." She commented and placed her hand on his jaw, turning his face to hers.

He grinned, "I usually don't look this bad."

"What weighs on your mind?"

He politely declined with shake of his head, "I don't wish to burden you with my problems."

"You're my favorite brother who I haven't seen in gods know long. I think I can afford to listen to your burdens."

"No, Ursa." He shook his head again, placing his hand on hers.

He wanted to tell her everything. To spill out his fears and hopes and dreams. To tell her that this festival was a scheme to help soothe the sting of thousands of lives lost and draw attention away from the fact that the war was sparked by personal vendetta. To tell her that he fell in love with someone who could find the initiative to love him back, only to have her run off to fulfil her destiny and never return. To confess that his sleep was haunted by the dark days he spent in the Imperial City thirty years prior.

The thick lines that crossed his back and chest ached at the memories. It wasn't often he found himself remembering, but when he did, the pain wasn't only emotional.

"Mama?" A nearly squeaky voice asked from the bench behind them and they turned their heads. Ulfric's vision was blurry and the darkness of the chapel didn't help. He squinted to see a small wood elf lass, not yet in adulthood, waiting patiently with her hands clasped in front of her. The dark tawny robes she wore were faded and far too large for her body, dwarfing the already tiny child. Her eyes found Ulfric and the golden orbs widened considerably before she bowed her head, "Jarl Ulfric – Er – Your Highness…"

Ursa stood abruptly and took her place next to the girl, wrapping her arm around the girl's narrow shoulders, "Ulfric, this is my daughter, Elsa."

Ulfric joined them in standing, struggling to keep his balance. He hoped his inebriation wasn't too noticeable…

A Bosmer. His sister had taken a Bosmer as a daughter. It was odd, but not unpleasant. He admitted openly that he held distrust towards Altmer specifically, however it wasn't far-fetched for him to trust or even like other elves. He had fought beside many honorable Bosmer during the Great War. He held his hand out to the young elf, who took it gently. He raised the back of her hand to his lips, where he placed a polite kiss.

"I wasn't aware that I had another niece." Ulfric hummed cordially, tickled by the way she smiled broadly. "It's nice to meet you, Elsa."

"Elsa, this is my brother. Your uncle." Ursa introduced Elsa cheerily and the child took her hand back from Ulfric and bowed her head.

"It's nice to meet you, too."

"How about you go wait for me outside, love? I'll be out later." Ursa suggested and the girl nodded obediently, leaving her mother's grasp and left the shrine. Once the adolescent had left, his sister laughed at his surprised expression, "I came into custody of her when she was a babe. Her parents were dissidents and good friends of mine. She's a lovely girl. Wants to become a priestess one day."

Ulfric smirked, "Just like her mother."

"Aye."

"So I never asked – what brings you to Windhelm?"

"I stopped by for the festivities and celebration. Since another war is brewing, I want Elsa to enjoy as much Nordic culture as she can before I must leave with her." Ursa wore a grieved expression, but happiness lay in her voice.

Guilt nipped at Ulfric's heels and he cleared his throat, "how about you come to Solitude with me once I'm crowned."

Ursa seemed taken aback by his offer, "pardon?"

"I can make you my court Priestess." He was being a little too enthusiastic but he couldn't help himself. Whether it was the alcohol or the sheer loneliness he had been experiencing driving him, he didn't know. But it sounded like a good idea.

"I would love that, Ulfric." Ursa smiled, "I will consider it."

Ulfric nodded, his head a little clearer than when he had entered the temple. "Where are you staying?"

"In Candlehearth."

"Come to the Palace." He suggested again.

"No…" She declined with a laugh, "I loathed that place when I was a child, and there is no way I would subject Elsa to it. She will have much more fun at the inn with all the people." She smiled thankfully and pulled her brother in for a hug, which he accepted wholly, squeezing his younger sister as if it was the last time he would see her.

"If you ever need to speak with anybody, don't hesitate to come to me." She smiled lovingly and patted him on his scarred cheek before leaving his embrace and turning to leave. He watched her sadly, realizing for the first time that his family wasn't at all broken. His father would be ashamed at the state of things, yes, but it wasn't as if it would kill him to try to talk to them once in a while.

He sat back down on the bench, closing his eyes. He felt better, but not how he had expected. As a bell tolled in the city and some cheers rang out in the street, he released a heavy sigh, focusing his thoughts to form a coherent prayer, hoping that someone would hear it.

* * *

Ophelia left Hjerim when the bell tolled for midnight. Leiv had woken her up not an hour before with a little feast that he had picked up while out. Mutton, fresh bread, leeks, and good Nord mead were presented to her upon waking up and she ate ravenously. She thanked her brother graciously but as usual he didn't respond accordingly.

The winter winds had found Windhelm that evening. The snow whipped around her face uncomfortably as she walked through the icy streets, avoiding the drunken crowds of people that formed. In other circumstance, the crowds would have proved troublesome and annoying to Ophelia, but tonight they provided just enough distraction so the guards didn't bat an eye at the covered woman darting through the shadows to the front steps of the Palace. She rounded across the thick stone entrance, facing the front doors and the tall fire pits that crackled noisily. To her surprise there weren't many guards in front of the Palace itself, only two that leisurely stood bye, sipping at some mead as if it was a boring night.

She frowned – why was Galmar being so lazy with security? Or did the responsibility fall on Jorleif. Either way, the lack of attention was shameful. Her feet fell silence as she used the icy stone to her advantage and slid into the nearby shadows, away from any prying eyes. She had several invisibility potions on her, the strongest of which was provided by Leiv. Thirty minutes of invisibility, he claimed. She could only hope that he was telling the truth.

The guards stood opposite of a torched alcove. One of many that decorated the sides of the castle. Each were a person and a half wide and littered with notches that appeared over years of neglect. She favored one particular niche that rested behind some of the old, discarded stones she assumed were once used to renovate the Palace at one point. She watched the guards as they laughed jovially about one thing or another, oblivious to her presence. The bottoms of her worn leather boots slid along the icy stone, providing her with the silence she needed to remain undetected. The alcove was across from her now, not even six feet beyond where the two stood.

She slipped the first minor potion of invisibility from her pocket and downed it messily, scowling at the sour liquid that dripped from her lips. Her arm raised to wipe it away and she nearly jumped as the back of her bracer met with her lip, but nothing appeared before her. So it worked. Fantastic. She dove and tucked her body beneath her, letting out the slightest grunt as she made unexpected contact with a jutting edge of the wall, but sighing in relief as she noticed she was already in the niche and the guards were just as ignorant as before.

Ophelia reached up with her hand, slipping it into the first notch that was raised against her head and pulled herself up, bracing her foot against one of the taller unused stones. It was a dance she had performed many times before, the cold stone feeling right beneath her fingers. She climbed noiselessly, minding any equipment on her hip, as she didn't need the clanking of metal against stone to gather any attention. Once at the jutting lip of the next level, she reached up and pulled herself onto it, winded from the climb already. Her days spent lying in bed at High Hrothgar destroyed her stamina and she grimaced, thankful that no one had been there to witness her indignity.

She stood and began shimmying across the ledge, to the smaller, curved roof that overhung the main entrance. As she turned and prepared for the jump from the stone ledge to the snow covered shingles she halted. Out of the corner of her vision she saw the guards snap to attention, their once hunched over backs as straight as ever. A bulk of a man entered the courtyard, brusquely marching to the door as if he was being chased away by someone.

"Jarl Ulfric." A young Stormcloak called out, "Pleasure to see you out tonight, my lord."

"Aye." Ulfric grunted as he passed by them, waving a dismissive hand before tugging his coat tighter around him. Ophelia swallowed, her heart beating so fast that she thought it might jump out of her chest. While she couldn't make out his face, her stomach churned at the way he peered up at the sky, right by her, as he walked. She missed him… Missed him so much.

Her hands felt so frigid suddenly and she felt out of place. She wanted to jump down and run into his arms, to apologize profusely and confess what happened, to kiss him and make love to him and never leave his side again. It was so tempting, but as soon as she began to rationalize it, he had disappeared below her and into the doors of the Palace.

Ophelia felt herself tremble conflictingly. She shouldn't do this. She should just – just go back down and walk into the Palace and explain herself. Her legs aching from crouching in the corner for so long, she was faintly aware of how the invisibility faded off, and her body flickered beneath her, finally back. She didn't worry though – the moonlight didn't touch the dark corner of the roof and left her unseen.

She swallowed again, trying to forsake her second guessing. Reaching into her pocket again, she pulled out the other short term invisibility potion and downed it, dropping the empty bottle in her bag as she scowled at the liquid.

She braced herself against the wall and leapt, catching herself against the shingles with a thud and crawling up to the peak. Balancing on the peak, she used her legs to push off and she caught herself on the other side of the building and pulled herself to her feet. As much as she tried to be light footed, her footsteps pounded against the shingles as she tried to not slip on the icy snow mixture that rested on them. She darted past countless windows to the bed chambers. Ulfric's room was at the very back of the Palace, and she had quite a ways to go before she would reach it.

Ophelia panted, her breath clouding around her face and blurring her vision as she ran carefully across the expanse of the roof. The potion wore off with a flash and she halted, bracing herself between two dimly lit windows.

"Shit," she breathed out into the dark night, clenching her fists angrily. The potion didn't last nearly as long as the last, and she had actually made that one herself. She looked down in her pocket, where one last bottle remained. The potions potency was accounted for by Leiv, but she didn't know how long it would take her to escape Ulfric's room and sneak to the barracks. It was too much of a risk. If she could just make it to the room before drinking it…

She peeked around the corner of one window, peeking into the room. A nude woman leaned against the side of the large bed that sat inside, undulating violently as an unidentified older man railed into her from behind. Ophelia cringed at the unwelcomed sight and moved across the open expanse, figuring that they were too busy to notice her.

Thankfully, the occupants of the rest of the rooms were either absent or asleep, and Ophelia faced no problem reaching the end of the row of rooms. She jumped and raised herself to the final tier of rooms, gasping for air as she straightened herself up. Shameful, indeed.

As she peaked into Ulfric's window she noted the lit fire and the new banner that hung above it. She chuckled slightly. The bear wears a crown, now? How cute… It was all for show, undoubtedly. They wouldn't want the king sleeping in the quarters where someone had nearly killed him.

Experimentally, Ophelia used her lock pick to open the new lock, which proved to be far more difficult than the last time she had visited. After some frustration, it clicked open, releasing the tense pane of glass, which she pushed open.

Ulfric's room was warm… too warm, in fact. She sniffled as her nose drained from the difference in temperature and closed the window, locking it tightly behind her. She peeked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dim glow around her. She lowered herself from the table, and began around the room, her paranoia gathering the best of her. If any assassin was to make an attempt on him, this would be an opportune place… that is if he was even sleeping in here. As she neared the bed she noticed the gathered, messy sheets and her breath caught in her throat. So he was sleeping in here? What in Oblivion had gotten into Galmar? Letting Ulfric dally around like there was no one after him. The though infuriated her.

With a huff, Ophelia circled around the other side of the bed, behind the head board to check for any signs of life. As she opened her mouth to whisper the shout she had used frequently, the door opened and she froze, placing her back against the back of the headboard and her backside to the ground.

"Thank you." Ulfric's distinct voice reached her ears and butterflies darted in her stomach. It was so odd.

"Sire, I really must advise that you not sleep in here… After last time, it just doesn't seem prudent."

_Finally, someone with sense._

Ulfric chuckled, "Please, Gretchen, I don't need anyone else doting over me."

Ophelia rose an eyebrow at the name. She never met a guard named Gretchen. Then again she didn't know most of the guards that hung around the Palace anyways. In fact, she didn't know a whole lot of Stormcloaks in general. She knew Ralof and Tobias. The realization was startling.

"It's not doting, your Highness," Her accent was thick, "it is preserving this great kingdom you are building."

"You will have plenty time to help preserve the rising kingdom tomorrow. For now, I am an old man who needs to rest." Ulfric laughed lightheartedly again, something Ophelia only heard him do around her or Galmar.

"You're not an old man! I've seen you in battle, you still have youthful stamina." The woman giggled and a burning began in Ophelia's stomach as she stared ahead, unmoving. She was flirting with him.

"You seem so sure of that." His voice drawled out shrewdly. He was flirting back. It felt like a kick to the stomach.

Ophelia slid her backside against the wooden grain of the floor, right to the edge of the bed, where she peeked around the corner. Gretchen stood close to Ulfric. Very close. Ophelia felt something gnaw within her that quickly turned into bone-crushing jealousy when the young woman raised a hand to touch one of the braids that rested on the side of Ulfric's face. Ulfric didn't move at first but eventually placed his hand on her wrist to bring her arm down, away from him.

"Goodnight, Gretchen." He wasn't angry at her advances. Nor did he sound like he was even turning her down. In fact he sounded happy. Ophelia scowled, the wooden plank underneath her hand creaking softly as she gripped the edge of it.

Gretchen left the room and Ulfric stood, watching the door for several minutes. Ophelia wanted nothing more than to jump up and surprise him. It physically hurt, being this close to him but not being able to act on anything.

Ophelia had taken many lovers before, some of which were meant to be long term relationships, although it never seemed to work out too well for her. Infidelity only reared its head one time, and it also happened to be the last time it did… or so she thought.

Ulfric shook his head slowly, turning to the bed. Ophelia pulled her head back behind the headboard, huddling up as she braced herself to potentially move. There was a rustling of clothing, and a thud hit the ground before the bed groaned behind her. He was preparing to sleep.

She furrowed her brow as she sank deeper in thought. Then again, could she even count this as potential infidelity? As far as he knew she could very well be dead. It wasn't as if he actually slept with her or anything… or did he?

Ophelia waited with bated breath for him to fall asleep, and eventually, she felt as if she might do the same. The man would become silent for several minutes, prompting Ophelia to finally move, but would then gasp suddenly before falling back to sleep. It was arduous.

As the jealousy-ridden thoughts returned, Ophelia became anxious. She needed answers, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she could afford speaking to him real quickly about…

_Wait. No._ She wasn't here for this. Ophelia reached into her pocket and pulled out the last potion, downing it with great determination. She wasn't here for Ulfric. She was here for Lydia.

Her body flickered into nothingness and Ophelia took silent steps to the wall and scaled it until she reached the door. Ulfric's snores resounded through the room by that time and it took her every ounce of her own self-control to not turn back around and look at him. _It wouldn't do me any good_, she thought viciously.

She pulled the door open softly and peaked out. Gretchen wasn't nearby. Only one lonesome Stormcloak leaned lazily against the wall, facing the other way. Relieved, she speedily moved out into the hallway, not bothering with closing the door. The guard was blissfully unaware of her as she passed by him and moved down the stairs. She slid down each step one at a time, mindful that foot falls were easily heard on stairs. It was long and grueling, but once at the bottom she resumed her crouching.

The last hallway before the descent to the war room was littered with people. Nobles staying in Windhelm couldn't stay at Candlehearth or the newly renovated high class inn on Valunstrad, could they? No, they _had_ to stay at the Palace. She rolled her eyes at the sights before her. Drunken noblemen lingering outside of rooms as if they were adolescent boys, their wives angrily peeking out of their respecting rooms and shouting for them to come to bed. It was all so silly.

As she passed by one of the doors on the right, it swung open, revealing a sweaty and disheveled older nobleman, a young bar wench hanging off his arm. It was the couple she had stumbled upon earlier. Ophelia clung to the wall, her grimace from earlier returning. _Oh, the unfortunate circumstances of seeing certain people naked. _

The young girl giggled at his lewd comments to his friends as they walked towards the group of men, who now busted out in a chorus of laughter. Ophelia watched on. At least her and Ulfric's age discrepancy wasn't half a century…

Continuing on, she finally made it to the final staircase and didn't both descending carefully. The surrounding noises were enough to cover her foot steps up. She opened the door to a very surprised looking Galmar. He was mid-sentence when it shot open and simply stared ahead suspiciously.

"Galmar?" Yrsarald called from behind him when the man didn't continue speaking.

Ophelia held her breath. She was only a foot away from him, maybe a little less. His gaze dropped right onto her and her pulse quickened uncomfortably. "We need to get this damn draft looked at. This door has been acting strange lately."

"Would you like me to make note of it?"

Ophelia braced herself on the wall to her right and shifted out of the way so that when he finally moved he wouldn't hit her.

"Yeah." He muttered and began past her, his long cloak brushing against her leg. She clenched her jaw and released the breath slowly, as to not draw any attention. She jumped through the doorway, which was closing behind him and into the war room just in time. Yrsarald had his back turned to her, hunched over a piece of parchment she guessed was the note he was making for Jorleif.

Wasting no time, she moved to the door to the Great Hall and opened it, slipping out. There were only guards in the hall, as far as she could see, and they were too busy carousing and eating to notice any lesser noise coming from her. She shot through the hall, narrowly avoiding a few of the guards as they rough housed, but made it to the barracks door quickly.

The barracks were in somewhat disarray, and she struggled to figure out where she might find the ledger. She peeked at the door across the way – the door to the dungeons – but knew that she had no exit strategy, and the two young men who guarded it wouldn't just let her walk out with Lydia. The potion wouldn't last long enough, anyways. She needed to find the list.

A small strip of wood lined next to a table, and strips of parchment and wanted signs were nailed to it. She crept over, keeping her eyes out for anyone. Those that were awake gossiped noisily, and the two guards that waited by the dungeon were quietly discussing something on their own. Once in front of the strip of wood, she stood and peered at the papers. Notices about funding, complaints about armor, news regarding Ulfric's party, but no sign of any ledger.

She frowned then, maybe Galmar had it? Or Jorleif. It was disheartening but she had no time to linger, she crouched again and turned, a large sheet of parchment that lie on the table to the right of her catching her attention. She leaned over it.

It was the ledger. She smiled and looked around, no eyes were cast her way and she thanked the Gods before looking down again. Tobias was leading the security around the Palace, and eight guards were assigned to the dungeon, none of which were female. Ophelia chewed on her lip, looking further down the list.

Ulfric's personal guard would consist of Galmar, Jorn, Yrsarald, and Gretchen. Her stomach twisted as she read over the name again. Gretchen. She hated that name. Just then, the woman that caused her such uncomfortable jealousy entered the barracks silently, stripping herself of the heavy armor and weapons, laying in a bed near her.

Ophelia watched her, defensively pointing out the woman's immediate imperfections in her head. Of course, she knew it was pity, but she couldn't help it. She looked back at the registry one last time, an idea forming inside of her head. Ophelia wasn't one to turn down devious attempts at sabotage, but her jealousy and desperation was enough to have her justifying it in her own head...

She left the ledger in place and took her leave from the barracks without another word, not even bothering to crouch as she leisurely walked through the main hall and out of the main doors of the Palace, no Stormcloak so much as looking her way.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?"

It was the first time that Ophelia Highlander had ever seen her brother nervous.

"So long as that ether you concocted isn't defunct." She smirked, "Why are you so jumpy?"

"Because I have a job to do and I don't need Stormcloak blood on my hands right now." He grunted and crossed his arms, pacing around the first floor of Hjerim. Ophelia watched him as she crouched in the corner of the room, shrouded by the ill-fitting armor Leiv had let her borrow.

Leiv tugged at the fine clothing she had found for him. His long hair was pulled back into a very messy pony-tail, his eye blackened from the punch she had landed on him earlier.

"_Remind me again why I'm letting you punch me?" He had groaned as they stood toe to toe, Ophelia grinning like a sabre cat, her fist at the ready._

It was all for the plan, of course, but it did feel good getting one in on him.

Leiv noticed her expression and scowled, "don't get too absorbed by your amusement, you still need to listen for her."

"She's a Stormcloak, I'll hear her." Ophelia chuckled and looked down at the slimy blade that she wielded. The ether poison, as Leiv had called it, was a very potent knock out and paralysis agent. The slightest cut would do someone in for a good twelve hours. Just enough for her to keep Ulfric safe and sound while rescuing Lydia.

"What's my story, again?" Leiv crossed his arms and touched his black eye tenderly.

"You are a Nobleman from Bruma who was dragged from the street last night, assaulted and left here to die. Silda saw the entire ordeal and is now going to get the temporary captain of the guard until sunrise, Gretchen."

"Why are we taking her out?"

"Because she looks like me and I can imitate her accent." _And she's making a move on my fiancé…_

"By the Eight, Ophelia. This better work."

"It will, Leiv. It will."

The two fell into silence and soon the distinct sound of chainmail reached their ears. Leiv's head shot up and he took his place on the floor, next to the table. Ophelia forced a better grip on the dagger, preparing herself.

The door busted open so hard it closed on itself once Gretchen entered. The woman brought a torch up to search, "anyone there?!"

Leiv groaned, as if he was stirring from a deep sleep and Gretchen ran, falling to his side, "Sire? Sire? Are you alright?"

He turned his head up to look at her and began mumbling. Ophelia took that as her cue to start creeping over. The wooden planks creaked beneath her foot falls but no sound came from them. A blessing of Dark Brotherhood armor. Once in reach of the woman, Ophelia felt an unexpected stab of guilt but didn't let it persist for long, as she brought the knife down on the woman's arm lightly. The blade sliced the exposed skin of her lower arm, drawing blood. Gretchen screeched and turned with the torch, nearly hitting Ophelia. She dodged her quickly.

However, Ophelia didn't move away any farther, as Gretchen's eyes rolled back and she dropped the floor, the torch followed with her. Leiv hopped up and stopped the flames, looking at Ophelia, "that was menacing."

"It was. I'll never do it again," she shook her head, her Nordic pride gnawing at her.

"That's what I said, too." Leiv chuckled and rolled the unconscious woman over on her side and examining the wound, "just heal her up and she'll wake up in about a half a day's time."

Ophelia nodded, bringing forth a health potion and dabbing it on the wound. It sealed up as if nothing had happened and they both stood, looking over the body.

"I need to use her armor. Help me strip her."

Leiv wordlessly obliged and they took the armor off of her, leaving her in her smalls. "This is dignifying."

Ophelia rolled her eyes, "If you're so concerned about it, there's some clothing upstairs."

As she stripped off the armor Leiv had let her wear, Leiv left to fetch the clothing that Ophelia spoke of from upstairs. She pulled on the Stormcloak cuirass and pouldrons, pulling the straps taunt and buckling them as best as she could. It was a little loose, but not terribly so. She pulled the boots and bracers on and finally, the helmet. By the time she had put the armor on, Leiv had returned.

"Wow. Okay, try me." He placed the clothing down on the floor and crossed his arms.

"_Stop! You've violated the law_!" She cried out and held her hand out at her brother, who laughed in return.

"Your accent is alright, I suppose. Just don't talk too much."

"_Aye_." Ophelia nodded, still using the accent, "_I better be off then_."

"Good luck." Leiv chuckled and began pulling the clothes on Gretchen's unconscious body.

"Don't need it!" She replied and bolted out of the door. Leiv was going to take her equipment to a barrel outside of the city, so she was left weaponless and free of equipment. It felt weird. The sun was just rising as she braved the icy steps of the Palace, praying that all this trouble wasn't in vain.

* * *

Thank you guys again!


End file.
